


Never Would I Have Imagined

by VereorInHell



Series: Welcome To The Blitzkrieg Family [2]
Category: Beyblade
Genre: Blitzkrieg boys, Boris is a dick, Bryan is a mechanic, DB/BB fatherly figures, Demolition boys, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone gets it, F/M, Happy Ending, I meant Balkov, Ian is a DJ, M/M, Sliiiiight mention of boy x boy between the boys, Spencer is a scholar, Tala's past, The kids are amazing, Very happy ending, Very very veeeery happy ending, family after the Abbey, future lives for my babies, go figure, kinda school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VereorInHell/pseuds/VereorInHell
Summary: Set after Demolition Love. Ian knows he isn't the most good-looking guy around, but maybe he can find a woman who will love him nonetheless. Only, he has already fallen in love, and sees no chance of pursuing such love. While he keeps cursing himself, his nose and his stature, he doesn't know that love works in mysterious ways. And so do Tala and Bryan. Contains TalaXBryan, IanxOC





	1. Hopeless

One meter and sixty centimeters. Probably even less, if he considers that, last time he was measured, he was wearing his combat boots. High-soled combat boots.

He is aware he has never particularly looked good. He's not hideous, or so he hopes, but that giant peninsula on his face is a bit too much, for a nose. On good days, he feels a strong resemblance with Rostand's fictional Cyrano, or to the real man himself. Not because he speaks a good French, obviously, since he doesn't, but because of that damned pointy appendage on his face.

Ian knows that being short isn't that much an insurmountable problem. He is not a dwarf, after all, and height itself doesn't matter, if you manage to show a girl the good content of your heart. Or if you manage to prove that you have the size she wishes, in your pants. But, being short, coupled with being cursed with that nose, that makes dating really hard.

Bryan has made fun of him for both traits, for longer than Ian can recollect. He hasn't been the only one, either, but, if truth must be said, Ian admits that his teammates' taunting are the most harmless.

Spencer rarely even makes fun of him at all, let alone for his height and nose. And, well, Spencer is a giant. He is even taller than Bryan, and towered on the majority of the adults in the Abbey too. He really isn't in the position to mock him for being too short, when he can be mocked for being way too tall. And he has never mentioned Ian's nose, probably because he knows his own is not much better.

Bryan makes fun of him. Out of his three teammates, he is the one who jokes about his nose or stature the most. He calls him midget, or says stuff like 'duh, you reach things with your nose before than with your outstretched arms', but Bryan is an ass. He is never serious, and he mocks everyone. As much as one would never guess from the outside, Bryan lives kidding around with people, taunting them, either to seriously piss them off, if he doesn't like them, or more often to just gives air to his mouth. He likes to talk and make people laugh at the idiotic stuff he says, and his jokes kind of grow on you, after a while. It's easy to get used to them, and even easier to not really take offense to the teasing word.

He and Ian, they have this weird custom of one of the two fake-pissing off the other, and the other chasing after the first. Bruises may occur, insults are always required, but it's an harmless exchange of opinion and affection.

Bryan isn't serious, when he talks shit about Ian's face. Bryan is tall, built, and has this handsome face nobody has ever expected him to grow into, but, even if he really is hot, he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't give beauty much credit, neither other people's, nor his own. If it wasn't for Tala, they would have never known that Bryan actually knows about the mere concept of beauty. And, Ian has no problem admitting that Bryan is handsome. He is honest with himself, and his eyes work well. Why would he do otherwise?

Also, since he found out about the Falcon's utter infatuation for their captain, Ian often plays dirty, and, when made fun for his short stature, he replies hinting at the pathetic puppy love Bryan feels for Tala. Which is the best way to have a blushing Falcon chasing him around the place in two seconds.

Tala himself is the one that mentions Ian's stature the most, after Bryan, but, as with the Falcon, there is no malice in his words. Tala would never admit it, but he worries for them all, and cares for them all, and the last thing he would do is intentionally hurt them. Especially with words. He does mention Ian's nose, sometime, but in those circumstances he is usually so pissed off, that Ian doesn't really have the time or means to focus on the offense. Usually, he's busy thinking how to stay alive, when confronting a fuming redhead.

His teammates respect him, even if they make fun of him. It's not like he doesn't retaliate doing the very same himself. After all, every one of them gets targeted with jokes of some kind: Ian for the stature and nose, Spencer for his size and for that expression he often makes, which makes him look as dumb as a real whale, Bryan for… well. They wouldn't dare tease Bryan at all, hadn't he and Spencer found out about his utter love for their redheaded captain. Which is perfect, because just the mere hint of Bryan's infatuation for Tala is enough to irk Bryan. And for Ian to have a blushing Falcon chasing him, pretending to be angry. As for Tala, he gets plenty of teasing by the rest of his team for the crazy color of his hair, for being a flamboyant drama queen, and kind of a sex addict.

For all these reasons, Ian doesn't mind (too much) when his teammates target him with jokes and teasing, reminding him about his two physical traits that nature has cursed him with. He has painfully learned to put up with both, in such a very less lenient environment like the Abbey. He knows he isn't good looking. Or better, he could be OK, if his nose was just a bit shorter.

He knows 'good looking', can see it whenever he looks at Bryan, Spencer even, or at some of their young students.

He knows 'unreachable male beauty' when he looks at Tala, or Mikail, one of their older kids.

He knows he will never find a woman who will love him for his looks, but, maybe he can find one who will love him despite the way he looks.

He sighs, staring at the ceiling in his room. The silence around him is broken only by the faint echo of voices coming from a floor under. The rest of his team, with the kids from the Abbey that are living with them, is dealing with post-dinner cleansing. For a moment, he considers stretching over his bed, reaching for his big headphones, and shutting out the voices with music.

Because he is an idiot.

Scratch that: he is a genius, a very smart person, and an extremely intelligent being, but he is also an idiot.

Why?

Because, despite knowing that he has a serious problem in actually finding a woman who is willing to put aside the way he looks and focus on his heart, Ian has, kind of, fallen in love.

With a beautiful woman, two years older than him, who he has practically never spoken to. Who he knows is two years older than him only because he is a nerdy stalker, and managed to hacker the facebook profile of one of her friends and colleagues, to see all the pictures of her he could find.

He has fallen for one of the most beautiful women on Earth, a dancer, who is also at least thirty centimeters taller than him.

Well, maybe only twenty, considering that the only time he has managed to get close to her, she was wearing her very high heeled stage shoes.

He closes his eyes, picturing beautiful, perfect Valeriya in his mind. Dancing, wrapped around a pole or moving on a cube, wearing barely-covering outfits, more revealing than a bikini. Moving with her golden, wavy hair bouncing on her back. With those incredibly long legs that are probably the sexiest part of her body, after the goddess-like face.

"How could I be so stupid?" he murmurs to himself, opening eyes and watching over the table.

He looks for the digital clock, which tells him that yes, it's about time to get up and get ready for work. He needs to hurry, too, or he will be late, and a DJ can't be late, can he?

He exhales loudly and starts undressing, hitting the shower still in the gloomiest mood ever. He doesn't need much for this job, he doesn't have a real dressing code, as long as he wears dark colored clothes. He goes for black jeans, black hoodie and his black combat boots, sporting one of his most frequent outfits (which, incidentally, yes, looks very much what he was donning at the time of the Demolition Boys in the Abbey, but, whatever).

He grabs his bag and slithers his laptop inside it. He needn't bring it, but he likes working with his own better than the one the club provided him. Even if this means that he has to reach the club at least ten minutes earlier, to plug it in and connect it to everything.

He pushes his headphones around his neck, and swiftly runs down the stairs. Only to suddenly stop and start coughing, both to cover the laughter and to attract the attention of two persons, whose bodies are intertwined to the point of attempting fusing into one.

Tala and Bryan, who were taking advantage of the semi-darkness of the stairs that lead to the top floor where their bedrooms are, jump off each other, and plaster themselves on the two opposite walls of the corridor.

A twin set of flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes fixes on Ian's face, their guilty expression revealing how much those two hoped to enjoy their privacy. Ian doesn't need anything else to figure out just how far their making out has already gone, but can't help wondering how farther exactly they were planning on going. Even if the kids all know about their relationship, it still isn't a good idea to give them a rated-M spectacle of what that relationship entails.

He shakes his head, smirking: "Oh, please, don't stop on my account. Do you want me to go and take the camera? I told you, a tape with you two would make us rich!"

Barely after Tala and Bryan finally got together, Ian seriously dropped the offering. He has read about the type of perverted dreams some fans posted on blading blogs, and knows that a tape with the two of them even only kissing would make them consistently richer. He had counted on Tala's dramaqueen-ness to make that happen, but the redhead had, surprisingly, refused.

"Piss off, midget" Bryan automatically replies, shifting his clothes back to their places, definitely revealing to Ian how far their making out has gone. And really, Ian was good without knowing.

"Oh my god, Bryan! Were you going to fuck him against a wall in the fucking corridor? What if one of the kid came up and saw!"

"Hey! I'm right here!" Tala protests, blushing: "and he wouldn't have" he adds, pinning Bryan with a pointed look that's actually all Ian needs to read the implicit 'you moron, you almost went too far, don't you dare try to screw me against the wall, next time I let you kiss me in a barely lit corridor'.

Ian's expression voices the 'u-hu' he's refraining from saying aloud.

Tala notices his bag at that very moment, and, eager to move on another topic (possibly one that doesn't involve admitting that he is the one who gets manhandled in that relationship), he frowns and points at it with is chin: "are you working also tonight?" he asks.

Ian nods. He has been working twice per week, for a couple of months, so far.

They don't really need the money: between what the court has ruled out that they can milk from Balkov, and the money they won in previous tournaments that rightfully belongs to the four of them, they have enough to keep the school alive and kicking. Especially with the help of Kai's funding, they can provide for the four of them, the school and the fifteen kids from the Abbey, who are living with them.

After a few months they started with the school, though, they have all picked up some jobs, if only to have something to do that didn't involve further time glued to each other, like they were doing at every hours, every days.

Being good with tech and music, Ian tried out as a DJ, more as a joke than hoping seriously to get a position, but he did. It was on his first day at the club that he saw Valeriya, first.

He's been working two night per week for some months, for a good pay, and for the priceless view of beautiful Valeriya. He isn't supposed to work tonight, but the guy who was has called out, and Ian offered to replace him. It's an easy one, anyway: lame crowd, lame pop-shitty music, and Valeriya dancing. He would be stupid not to jump on the chance.

"Again?" Bryan pipes in, wearing an identical frown like Tala's: "but you usually do just two nights"

Ian shrugs: "It's an easy one, and the guy who was supposed to do it bailed out. I thought I could replace him" he honestly explains.

Tala's frown deepens: "Why?" he inquires further.

'Because I get to see beautiful Valeriya for another night, and because I'm stupid, and I've fallen for one of the most beautiful, most desired women on Earth', he thinks. Clearly, he can't really say that so he opts for just shrugging, and says: "Money".

"We don't need them" Tala insists, still staring at him with those light blue eyes of his, that feel like they strip your soul.

Ian hates when Tala looks at him like that. It's already difficult to lie to the guy, but, when he looks at you with those freaking eyes, it's really really difficult, even for a premium liar like Ian.

"Let him go, Tala. Leave him alone"

Unexpectedly, help comes from Bryan, of all people.

Tala's eyes, distracted, leave Ian and move to fix on the Falcon's, spending a few moment staring into Bryan's light green own ones. When they move back to Ian's face, they have lost their unnerving, inquisitive strength, and Ian feels once again able to breathe.

"Whatever. Be safe" Tala shrugs, and walks down the stairs again.

Ian moves to take a step down himself, but is stopped by Bryan's hand on his shoulder. He turns, looking at the deep stare in his taller friend's face, and can't help but wonder if his two teammates are fusing themselves into one person, for the incredible resemblance between this look on Bryan and Tala's previous inquisitive glaring.

"I know you're up to something" he announces, not caring to hear the lie Ian tries to come up with: "I know you have a real reason to go to that club. If you don't want to tell me what that is, that's fine. I will find out anyway" he adds.

If he was talking to anyone else, it would probably sound a lot more like a threat, but, to his teammates and friends, sentences like this come off more like warnings. Ian keeps his stare with a blank expression, not bothering answering since he's not really being questioned.

"Just be safe, and don't go looking for trouble" Bryan concludes, removing the hand from Ian's shoulder and letting him go.

Ian swallows imperceptibly, almost touched at his teammates' concern for his well being. He smirks and tries to cover it with his usual cool look: "Ah, Bryan, I'm touched. Can I go now? Should I expect Spencer too, to come and tell me to be careful?" he teases.

Bryan snorts and starts walking the stairs, but waits up for Ian to walk the rest of them together. They part at the bottom of second floor, where Tala and Spencer are talking with the kids. Ian lingers for a moment, watching Bryan join them in the big, well lit room where the happy voices are coming from. He doesn't care about finding out the topic of the discussion going on inside (probably they're just voting for the movie for that night).

He focuses instead on the feeling he is experiencing. This warm emotion that he can't name, that always fills him when he stops and takes in his surrounding, here at the school, with what has come to constitute his family. The kids he teaches to, the guys he lives with, his teammates. The people who have survived the Abbey and Balkov's crazy experiments, just like him, and among which he could never feel out of place.

Valeriya, dancing, gyrating and with hair bouncing around pops into his mind, and his smile shifts from fond to sad.

It's a good thing that he is enjoying this weird family he has now, because he hasn't many chances to build a proper one, one just his own.

He shakes his head and leaves, reaching the club just in time to plug in his laptop to every other machine and create a playlist. He discards the hoodie in the chair behind him, muttering in a low voice curses against the stupid new guy the boss has put at the console, while waiting for Ian to show up.

He doesn't have anything in particular against the mousy-faced barely out of teen age replacement that has been told to open the night. Everyone has the right to be inexperienced, and Ian knows that this job looks easy, but it's not. The thing is, there is a reason why the crowd goes mad, when they notice it's him, showing up at the console. First, he has a lot of fans, because he is a good DJ, who has a good taste in music, and second because he doesn't make stupid mistake like playing Pussycat Dolls as opening songs for a night. Even if it's a pop music night.

People screams his stage name, his fans appreciating the surprise of having him here instead of some second category, unknown guy. Even those who are not into his kind of music, more techno and experimental, enjoy the pop songs he chooses.

'Because I have fucking taste in music' he thinks, almost angrily.

The dancers in the backstage are almost done putting on makeup and their tiny, skimpy dresses, and Valeriya looks as beautiful as ever. Ian grimaces a bit, noticing her, wondering how could he fall for somebody he will never even talk to. He puts on a catchy song for the first dancer who struts on stage, choosing carefully in the playlist to find those which will fit better to the different dancers showing up.

When it's Valeriya's turn, her smile stuns him, and he swallows, forcing himself to remember that the smile isn't for him. It's her stage smile. It's for the audience, for the people there, not for him. She doesn't even know him, and she definitely doesn't give a fuck about a barely one-meter tall guy who plays music.

Is it that stupid, that he puts on one of his song for her? She is the only one who can dance on them. She is the best and the most sexy, moving to the rhythm of the songs he creates, the only one who understands them.

Ian moves on to a more pop sound, as the night requests, and lets his mind drift off, as much as the presence of his private goddess (who is never going to be his) allows.

He wonders if he is wasting his time, pining for a girl who will never be his, who he has no chance even to talk to.

Because he is a genius, but also an idiot.

What he doesn't know yet, is that he's also the luckiest person in the world.


	2. It Could Be Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grown up Demolition Boys family life (very, very tiny mention of past self-harm)

Two months.

He has spent the past two months being in love with a woman who doesn't even know his name.

It could be worse, he tries to reason: there are many other things he could have wasted those months with, like drugs, or alcohol. 'Hell, I've spent ten years in the Abbey. Ten years are definitely more than two months, and there is nothing worse than the Abbey, to waste your life with' he mulls.

Now, while that's undeniably true, it still doesn't make him feel less pathetic. Quite the opposite, it makes him feel even more so, underlying how absurd would it be, if he ever got the pretty princess of the story. Not someone like a backup story like him, and not someone looking like him.

He frowns slightly, mechanically gyrating the brooms in his hands. He is dusting the hallway between his and his teammates' rooms, and, even if he had nagged and complained like he was supposed to, he doesn't really mind it.

Heaven forbid that Tala ever came to know this, but, the truth is, Ian really doesn't dislike being put on cleaning duty. Not that he particularly enjoys it, mind you, but at least he doesn't hate it. It helps him calm his mind. Big brainy nerd that he is, it's the best he can get. He knows that he will never manage to shut down his head completely, beside putting a bullet in it (which doesn't really sound like a good perspective anymore. He has often considered it in the Abbey, but, no point offing himself now, when he's finally out).

So, mechanical tasks are heaven for him, because he doesn't have to think about what he is doing, and can just do it. With his head so far, far away from what his hands are accomplishing, he can think about anything, really. He can think about music, play a song of his in his own head, even creating another one. Or he can, like in the past two months, think about Valeriya.

He must be a closeted masochist, clearly. Tala is the one of the team who apparently turned out to like being manhandled, but Ian is ready to bet that he beats the redhead, in terms of propensity to self-harm.

'Well, not physically'.

He mentally cringes, remembering that one time in the Abbey, when they found Tala covered in blood, drenched in it even more than anyone had ever been, even after the nastiest session of punishment. Bryan had been so mad, demanding to know 'why the fuck' and 'what the fuck' he had done to himself, and Spencer and Ian himself had helped coercing an answer out of an eerily relaxed redhead. Their captain had just shrugged, with the creepiest smile ever, murmuring that he was fine.

'Yup, Tala would always beat me on that' he reckons, and goes back to sweeping.

On a mental level, though, he must be as masochist as his captain used to be, since there is no other explanation as to why he would think about Valeriya, and how pathetic he is.

And to think that he used to mock and tease Bryan for wasting two years before telling Tala that he was ready to go down with him. Or, on him, actually.

He smirks at his own pun, but can't help wondering if he is set upon the same path. Will he spend a crazy tons of years himself too, before, maybe, telling the woman he is in love with that he is crazily, utterly smitten for her?

He bites his inner cheek and bends to pick up the dust gathered. No, no he won't. He already knows he won't, and the sad is thing, that has nothing to do with courage and having the guts to confess his love sooner than what Bryan did. The thing is, Ian is absolutely aware that he won't, because he can't. There's no point in trying to do something that he is already fucking sure he can't achieve, ever.

His life is already fucked up by a past that he had no control over, which cut off many opportunities for his future.

He might have grown into the height of every normal person, for instance, if it hadn't been for the Abbey. He might have gone to school, and to a college.

On the other side, maybe he would have never found out how precious is music for him. He doesn't know if, hadn't it been for the too many nights alone in confinements (boy, had he always hated sticking to rules), he would have developed such a passion for creating songs.

Probably yes, he reasons. Music is in his blood, and he has always liked it. From that point of view, he might have pursued a musical career sooner, become famous earlier, and, well, more. He is getting his own share of fame, now, both by working in that club and uploading on the web his songs, but he knows he is still far from what being famous entails. Not that he minds: he has already experiences being 'famous', with his team, in the beyblade world. Still is, even if his friends are much more known than him.

It's just that (and he feels a pang of guilt towards Wyborg every time he thinks this), he doesn't really love beyblade. He is not even sure that he _enjoys_ it, anymore.

That's why it's not him teaching beyblade to the kids, but the rest of his team. Bryan is the only other one of his old team who, like him, has only a tepid passion for the sport. From one side, there's him and Ian, with only a mild passion for blading left. On the others, there's Spencer, who has been beyblading all his life, and Tala, who is so into the sport that he might fuse with his Wolborg, one day. Not that Ian and Bryan don't feel connected to the spirit of their bit-beasts.

It's just that, it's difficult to enjoy playing a sport that has kinda been forced on you, even if, at that point of your life, you loved it. Spencer and Tala embraced it, dedicated to it like monks to sacred scriptures. The like it, they love it, they enjoy it and have lived for it.

But Ian, Ian doesn't. He doesn't particularly like beyblading, he doesn't love teaching, and he doesn't like dusting.

And yet he's doing all of these things.

He beyblades because it's part of his life, of his past, and because now he can play his own game.

He can have fun now, is allowed to. Nothing happens if he screws up, or gets distracted and throws away a match. He can decide which games are fun and which aren't.

He teaches, because that's what his team and him have become now, teachers. They all teach, because they have a responsibility towards the kids that haven't found a home or a family, after the Abbey. He teaches, because he has to take care of them, and wants to help them become normal adults, one day.

Not that he isn't screwed up himself, but, he can manage teaching maths and physics to a bunch of kids, without having to question his ethic. He might be a screwed up, but that much he can do.

And he dusts the floor, because that's what his turn says for today. He sweeps the floor because they all have to take care of that place, and they have to do so both for themselves and for the kids they are living with. Turned out taking care of twenty kids is really demanding, but, it could be worse.

He sighs to himself: yep, it could be demanding, and he could be wasting his life being in love with someone who doesn't even know he is alive.

'Fucking hell, brain. Do you really have to remind me that every other two minutes?' he thinks, self-questioning himself and his mental capability.

So much for being a genius.

"Hey, Ian"

The ring of a clear voices distracts Ian from his brooding, and he raises his head. Mikail, sixteen years old and the body of a dancer, smiles with his big, happy smile.

"Hey, Mik. What are you doing in here?" he asks the teen.

Mikail is standing with weight equally distributed on his two feet, but he leans more on the right. Ian schools his expression to not frown in front of him, but stores away the info, having noticed the relevant detail.

"Tala asked me to look for you. He wants you downstairs" the teen ager shrugs.

Ian smirks and lifts an eyebrow: "Tala, uh? And, what were you doing with Tala, at such a late hour?" he taunts, and his teasing earns him a very bright red shade on Mikail's pale face.

The kid has it bad for Tala since the first day Boris had dragged him into the Abbey. Tala, on the other hand, hadn't noticed Mikail until the kid became some kind of a legend, at his seventh attempt (failed like the previous six) to escape the Abbey.

Never one to back down from a challenge, or to give up when he wants to achieve something, Mikail was on his way to became Russia's next superstar in ballet, when, at the tender age of eight, he was kidnapped from his school by Boris and his goons.

"I… I was practicing" Mikail answers.

That is something that usually happens until dinner, not that gets prolonged after, too.

"Then why did you stutter?" Ian insists, his smirk widening into a very smug expression: "careful, careful, Mik. Don't want to get compromised with the big bad wolf!"

If possible, Mikail's face goes redder. He clearly _wishes_ to get compromised with Tala, but a series of things are in the way for that to ever happen.

First, Tala would never make a move on one of their kids. Especially before they are of age. Second, despite his previous behavior with the girls he dated, Tala is being very monogamous with Bryan. And, third, Mikail knows about them (in fact, he has been one of the first to find out), and would never lift a finger to try to snatch Tala from Bryan. His love for the redhead is comparable to the respect he feels for the Falcon. But still, the kid obviously dreams.

"We were practicing. I… He was helping me with the spinning" Mikail explains, trying to shake himself from the deep state of embarrassment he has fallen into.

Ian's big and relentless brain launches himself on a trip down memory lane. When the Demolition Boys sent Boris' sorry ass to jail, they moved with the kids who, like Mikail, didn't have a family to go back to. At that time, Mikail had just found out that his parents hadn't survived his disappearance eight years before, and he had completely broken. He didn't want to become a beyblader, like many of the remaining kids instead. He had survived the Abbey wishing to go back to his family, and to dance, only to find out that there was no longer a family to run back to.

As for dance, after Mikail's seventh failed attempt to escape, Boris had personally shattered his left knee into a million of tiny, little pieces. The man had always been cold, but the cruelty he acted on that time had been a first for almost everyone who witnessed to it. Enraged that the previous beatings and punishments had far from discouraged the kid from trying again, he had decided to show him why, in his opinion, he was better here, in the Abbey, beyblading, instead of trying to become a dancer. He had broken Mikail's knee by repeatedly kicking it and walking over it, screaming mean things along the line of 'we'll see how you're going to dance now'. The kid, who the pain had sent into shock, had been crying and begging the man to stop, not so much as to stop the pain itself, but because he had known that there was no way he could recover from that beating, and go back to dancing.

Finally free from the Abbey, Mikail had started drifting very rapidly into depression. It had been Tala to save him. Out of nowhere, and notwithstanding the crazy amount of other things that the captain of the Demolition Boys had to deal with, Tala had taken upon himself to help Mikail to get ready for an audition for one of the most prestigious Russian ballet academy.

Mikail had, at first, refused. How did Tala think he was going to dance ever again, let alone on stage, with a knee that was a cobweb of shards of bone, not even properly attached together? Ian himself had questioned the redhead's sanity, and accused him of being selfishly playing with the kid's dreams.

But Tala had known what he was doing. He had brought in the best surgeon money could find for that busted knee, contacted one of the most prestigious Russian ballet academy, demanding they gave Mikail a try out, and started working on Mikail's rehab, as if it was mending something in Tala as well. With the help of the redhead, Mikail had got into the academy.

Which had been a complete surprise for anyone, because Tala didn't really look like he knew a thing about dance, and yet, as they found out, he knew a freaking lot. So much that, even now that Mikail is attending the prestigious academy, the redhead is still his main tutor.

Ian doesn't add anything to the 'he was helping me' line that Mikail has just pulled, because, well. That must be what, technically, happened. What probably has also happened, is that the omnipresent, overwhelming sexual tension between the two must have persuaded the redhead to send Mikail here, upstairs, with the pretext of calling Ian. Ian is sure that Tala doesn't really need to talk with him, at all.

So, he nods, smirks a little bit more, and puts away the broom. "I'm done here, anyway" he says to the younger teen : "so, how are these spinnings of yours going?" he asks.

Mikail has a big show coming up, and he's showing every sign of being stressed out. Ian has no idea why these 'spinnings' things are bothering him so much (to be honest, he barely knows what they are), but he feels sorry for the way the kid is panicking, when he, according to Tala's harsh reprimands and his own tears, fucks up.

Mikail sighs: "Let's not talk about it. If you ask Tala, it's like they are the easiest thing on earth. Too bad that's also the opinion from my teachers' in the academy"

His shoulders sags, and Ian feels really sorry for him. Mikail, as well as the other two sixteen years old kids they have, are officially Ian's responsibility. Ian himself offered to take care of them, and he likes doing so. He likes to spend time with them, even if Ivan and Piter are two incredible troublemakers and Mikail here himself, angel faced and all, is not much better. But he feels responsible and protective, because they are his to care for. He has never had brothers, or siblings for that matter, but this is the closest thing he has ever felt to a fraternal bond. Not that he doesn't care for the other kids in their messed up almost-family. It's just that he feels closer to the oldest kids.

"Tala said you were making a fuss for nothing, last time I've talked to him" Ian utters, hands in his pockets: "said that he couldn't understand why you can't focus on this thing. He said that you've mastered so much other difficult stuff, he can't believe you're panicking over this one"

Which is all true, only, Tala's words were a bit more angry, and verbally offensive. Tala is wasting a lot of energies, trying to help Mikail, running the school, keeping it afloat in terms of finance and image. He's putting a lot of effort into everything he's doing, and he blames himself for when things don't go smoothly. Like for Mikail's messing up this stupid exercise.

'Thank god at least he's getting laid, now' Ian muses to himself.

Mikail pushes the door and waits for Ian to precede him. His eyes are dark and his mouth a thin line.

"He's right. He is. But I can't help it. I just keep worrying that I'm doing it wrong… And of course, that makes me fuck it up" he admits darkly.

"Can I help?" Ian offers, honest and straightforward like he rarely is.

"I don't think so, but thanks for offering" Mikail replies, a soft smile that shows real appreciation for the offer.

They are barely down the stairs that leads to the second floor, when a small body, the smallest of them all, comes hurriedly towards them and crawls his way up into Ian's arms.

The dark haired Demolition Boy picks Nikolay up, and looks at the boy's face. "Hey, little thing. You alright?"

Nikolay, big blue eyes and sandy hair, nods and explains with his childish voice, in his so eerily educated way of talking, that they should join the others in the gym.

Ian frowns and shoots a glance at Mikail. "Which gym?" Mikail asks, and, by what Nikolay replies, Ian knows that he means the same were usually Mikail practices with Tala.

"Is everything alright down there?" Ian further inquires.

Nikolay makes a face: "I don't know. I can't understand if they are fighting or not"

Mikail frowns as well and asks who is fighting. Or not.

"Tala and Bryan. Some of the kids are down there, too" Nikolay replies.

Ian rolls his eyes and marches down another ramp of stairs, putting Nikolay on his hip and walking fast with Mikail on his heels.

Just as Nikolay said, it's difficult to figure out if the screaming and the shouts are because the two in the gym are fighting or not. Screams and shouts usually stands for a fight, but in the Demolition Boys' case, that's not always true. If he pays attention to the way Tala and Bryan are looking at each other, and the way they are standing, he can see they are not fighting.

But they are still screaming and shouting like all hell broke loose, and in front of the kids. Some of the younger kids are indeed staring awkwardly at the scene, sitting on the floor or on the benches.

The only girl in their house walks to Ian as soon as she sees him: "I don't understand what's going on. Bryan took us here to play, but then he started arguing with Tala"

Babygirl, twelve years old and a real name that nobody is ever going to find out, tries to act calm and collected, but is clearly put out by the fight. Despite never being in the Abbey, she has her own nightmarish back-story, and she shouldn't assist to fights.

'As the majority of the kids in here' Ian darkly points out to himself. Which Tala and Bryan both know very well. He wonders what the fuck is going on, to make them forget about the importance of not letting the kids assist to fights.

Babygirl's brother Maxim joins them. Shy like his sister will never be, his eyes are a bit more cold and calm, but he looks as put out as she is, despite witnessing so much worse in the Abbey. Ian sighs and hands Nikolay to Mikail, who accepts the boy and puts him on his hip. Nikolay, not particularly caring who holds him, as long as he's being held and the situation over there is solved, just looks at the altercating duo.

Ian turns to the sitting kids, conjuring a smile despite his bad mood. "How about you guys go upstairs and wait there? Maybe watch a movie or something" he suggests in an easy voice.

Most of the kids bolt up the stairs, relieved to be told they can stop assisting the screaming going on. Babygirl, Mikail and Nikolay stay where they are, and look at Ian. Maxim, instead, shakes his head first, then his hand in a departing 'bye', and follows the others, heading for the second floor.

Ian turns to Tala and Bryan. The two don't even look like they've noticed he's here, and that their audience has considerably thinned out.

"Hey!" he shouts, effectively attracting their attention: "would you two take a fucking break? You've scared half the kids with your screaming" he goes on, pointing at the empty benches with an outstretched arm.

Bryan's eyes go wide, realizing the kids are not there anymore: "Did you send them upstairs, or did they go?"

"Do you think they'd move without you saying so? Don't be a fucking moron" Ian replies in a voice that drips venom: "I told them to. Be happy that they didn't figure out what he fuck is going on"

At his left, Tala sighs, covering his eyes with a shaking hand. He turns slightly away from Ian, but the brunette is not stupid, and knows how to read his friend's body language.

Tala is crying. He has been, through all that shouting, for a while, but the kids haven't noticed.

'Sometimes I don't know if you're lucky or stupid' he mentally addresses the redhead.

Bryan sighs as well, but he still keeps looking at the redhead: "You have to slow down, Tala. You need to take a fucking break. The kid needs it, too. Just let him breath" he utters, and it sounds like he has been insisting on this for a while.

Ian doesn't need to be told who the kid in question is. "He really does" he argues, earning himself a nasty scowl from his captain, who is expertly hiding any trace of tears: "he fucks up because he's too tense.

Tala's angry icy eyes flash at him: "He doesn't have the time to slow down. He has a fucking show in two fucking weeks, and he keeps fucking up the basics!" he whispers furiously, still careful to not be heard by the kid in question.

The anger in his voice doesn't hide the frustration. Bryan rubs tiredly his hands over his eyes, then grabs the redhead's shoulder: "Look" he almost shakes the slim body when his hand closes around the shoulder: "He knows he is running out of time. You know, he knows, _everybody_ knows. But you can't push him like this any longer. Think about his fucking knee, for fuck sake!"

"Good point" Ian pipes in, fixing Tala with a serious stare: "it hurts him. He's leaning on his right side again. Tala, I'm not saying let him go for a week holiday or to stop practicing altogether, but… Maybe you could both slow down. Take tomorrow off. At least the night" he insists.

Tala scoffs: "I already won't help him tomorrow morning. If he doesn't practice at night, it's a whole day wasted" he argues.

"Why won't you help him in the morning?" Bryan asks.

"I have to go to court again, Boris' lawyers are trying to bail him out. I'm not really concerned, the judge has already told me that, basically, they have no chance of victory, but I have to show up and witness against them anyway"

Bryan frowns: "How did you manage to speak with the judge, directly?"

Tala smirks coldly: "He's not a fan of Biovolt's either. He's made an exception for our case, said he wanted to reassure me personally that he's going to do everything he can to keep him in jail"

"We'll send him a fruit basket" Ian smirks, cheering inside his head.

Tala sighs again: "But I still can't help him train tomorrow morning" he insists. Ian nods and sighs, turning to cast a glance at the kids at the front door.

Mikail is still holding Nikolay, and he and Babygirl are talking in soft whispers, pretending they aren't keeping an eye on them. He turns back to his teammates.

"Look" he starts, thinking about his schedule for the next day: "I can help him. I have class with him and the other two, first thing in the morning, but I can make him train, instead of doing maths" he offers.

Tala frowns: "I'm not letting Ivan and Piter skip class. Or him"

"They are already beyond the point I hoped they would be, by now. A morning off won't do any harm. Let's give Ivan and Piter a free morning, and Mikail can train in that couple of hours. It's not like the other two will use the time to make some mess, anyway. They'll probably come here to watch him practice, like they often do" Ian argues.

Bryan shrugs: "Sounds like a good idea to me"

Tala is still frowning: "You wouldn't be able to see if he fucks up or not" he points out to Ian.

"Tala, at his level, _he_ knows when he fucks up. I don't have to tell him anything. And you need to take a break from this as well. Jesus, you're almost freaking out about it more than him!" Ian replies.

"The midget is completely right on this one, Tala"

"Fuck off"

"Shut up, I'm siding with you. And, Tala, Mikail needs to practice without you pointing out to him every single details that isn't perfect. Let Ian here do this thing. Just this time"

Tala looks at Bryan for a very long time, but finally caves in. He sighs and nods, muttering something about the two of them being conniving bastards and it not being his fault if Mikail's practice schedule ends up all messed up. "Fine. He practices with you tomorrow morning and has the night off" Tala agrees.

"Ok. Now, would you please go back upstairs and prove the rest of this house that you are not tearing each other apart? The kids were fucking scared" Ian says, voices sharps one final time.

Bryan shakes his head, scoffing, and starts walking towards the kids at the front door. Ian and Tala can see him murmuring something to them with a soft voice, and smile at them. Babygirl joins her hands behind her back and beams, and earns herself a kiss on her forehead from the Falcon. Mikail chuckles and passes him Nikolay, who smiles and hugs the older blond. Bryan disappears beyond the stairs, Nikolay on his hip and Babygirl pressed against his other, talking to Mikail about something that Ian and Tala can't hear.

Ian sighs and turns to his captain. The redhead is smiling, but there is something off in his face, and that's enough for having the brunette frown again.

"You ok?" he asks.

Tala nods, shifting his hair from his face: "Yeah. I guess… Going to court and having to deal with people trying to defend Boris… That always puts me on edge" he admits, and Ian is slightly taken aback by this sudden, open sincerity.

"Tala, last time you were being this honest, you were barely out of coma" Tala smirks at him and chuckles: "Don't worry, I'm not planning on going back into vegetable state anytime from now" Ian scoffs and leaves, but keeps looking at Tala with a serious eye for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter 3 is on his way. Because clearly, I can't stop with this story. Stupid Muse who demands that I write fanfictions. I fucking hate you. No wait, I take it back, I love you. Maybe. Anyway, for those who might be reading this... review, please?


	3. Partially Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family life among the Demolition Boys and the kids.

“Come on, Mik, you can do this!”

“Keep it up, brother! You’ve got this!”

Seeing, and hearing, Piter and Ivan encouraging Mikail always warms Ian’s heart, like only few things in this life can. The attachment and affection these three boys feel for each other is almost palpable, and it’s endearing, even more so because they are sixteen years old boys.

Teens of their age usually are everything but adorable. These three must have missed the class where they were supposed to be taught the importance of being cool over showing affection. It's a bit childish, the way they often to fool people with an appearance of adorableness.

Ian thinks that, considering that they have spent all their previous teen years in the Abbey, it is safe to assume that, when they need to cover up and hide their messes, they just adopt the strategic mechanisms they used before entering Balkov’s personally led hell. They behave like children, smiling all adorable, because that is what they used to do, before the Abbey.

Not that you could blame them for being too childish. They rarely are, beside for this weird tendency they have to hide behind their back what they have broken, all the while looking at you with huge smiles . Teenagers, even normal ones who didn't live through a nightmarish place like the Abbey, sometimes behave childishly. Even more than these three, Ian bets. So, all things considered, these three boys don't look like the screwed up teen agers you would think they are.

Like Ian himself, in some sense. He’s barely better than them- screw that, he’s really not better than them. He is probably more damaged than they ever could be, having lived in the Abbey for longer than they have. He is proud to say that they are in better conditions than himself. Not because he feels any good in claiming to be more damaged than others… but because it means that his charges are less screwed up than what he is.

While he’s pretty sure there is no hope fr him, there might be for them. There must be.

“Come on, Mik!” he joins the cheering, raising his voice for the blond boy to hear.

Standing in the middle of the gym, Mikail is practicing the infamous spinning exercise that, apparently, he would keep screwing up. Ian can see the struggle, the effort he puts into the drill, but he just doesn't see anything wrong with what Mik is doing.

The frustration on Mikail’s face is the only thing suggesting that there might be a tiny detail that he is screwing up, and that is enough for the blond boy to imagine a disappointed Tala looking at him, arm crossed on his chest and wearing the darkest scowl possible.

Ivan and Piter are sitting next to each other, close to the stereo system. They keep on cheering and encouraging their friend, focusing on what Mikail surely is doing right, and supporting him for the things that, judging from his expression, he does wrong.

Ian joins them on the bench, sitting closest to the stereo, and tends to the music. Beside the usual songs that the boy needs to learn, he is trying to give him something new, something that he could also enjoy, both to distract him from the drill and to entertain him. God knows how he himself would have shot himself, if they had tried to make him listen to the same single song for that long.

“Brother, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with what he’s doing. Looks perfect to me” Ivan mutters, barely turning towards Piter. His best friend and partner crime smiles one of his incredibly dazzling smiles: “You and me both, bro” he says through clenched teeth.

Ian scoffs, and they turn to look at him.

“I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one!”

“Man, like, never” Ivan shakes his head: “I swear sometimes I think Tala sees things, when he says Mik fucks things up. I mean, look at those movements!”

“At first I thought Tala was really making the mistakes up. But it made no sense” Piter confesses, still careful not to let Mik hear him or catch his expression.

Ian shakes his head, looking over at Mikail: “Tala would never”

“I know, I swear that I know. But Ian, look at him. He moves like a freaking angel!” Piter insists, pointing straight to Mikail with his outstretched arm and finger: “And I still wonder how the hell does Tala recognize the mistakes”

“Yeah” Ivan joins in: “sometimes the way he knows how Mikail is supposed to move is just creepy. I mean, ok, I get it, he got his brain upgraded in the Abbey, they have messed him up in his head, and now the result is that he is bound to be the best at everything he does, even things that he has never done before, but… seriously, sometimes he’s just too perfect. He is kind of creepy”

Ian scowls: “You guys better not repeat something like that when Tala is around” he warns them.

“We know” Ivan says, firmly but with a confident voice: “and you know that I don’t mean it as an insult. It’s just the way we feel”

“You have to admit, Tala’s knowing about dancing stuff is really weird” Piter says, trying to admit Ian to agree with them.

Ian kind of does. He seriously doubt there was someone who wasn’t surprised when Tala started tutoring Mikail, and turned out that he actually knew what he was supposed to do. Even Bryan, who has known Tala the most and longest, had looked taken aback.

“And I love him, Ian, just like I love you and the other guys, but… he’s pushing Mik too much” Piter adds on a low voice, so low that even Ian struggles a bit to hear him.

Ivan turns to Mikail, shouting cheering over the music, and then swiftly turns back to look at Ian: “Mik is getting so nervous he can’t even fall asleep. Which is absurd, he’s so tired when he goes to bed, he could fall asleep while he is still climbing the ladder!” he pointedly looks at the older boy, aware that Mikail would probably kill him, if he knew what Ivan has just told Ian.

Who is very close to the three of them, and often covers for their messes and all, but, he’s still the responsible figure, legally their tutor. Even if he’s way too young to feel like a parental figure, sometimes the boys remember he kind of is. Mikail wouldn’t want him to know about his weaknesses, especially if he himself doesn’t want to acknowledge them.

Ian sighs: “I’ve tried to talk to him. Bryan has, too. I don’t know why Tala is so nervous about this”

“Is everything ok with the court? Has Boris tried to raise his head from the mud?” Ivan asks, reaching straightforwardly for the heart of the thing.

Even if between the youngest of the Demolition Boys and the oldest of the kids there is barely a couple of years in age difference, the four Demolition Boys have agreed to firmly keep the three sixteen years old away from thorny topics, like money, Boris, and sneaky dangers they still face like requests of legal custody on one of the kids, from families or relatives who they know are not to be trusted (it has happened that some kids were sent back to their original family... and then promptly resold to someone else, even Boris. The former Demolition Boys have moved hell and heaven to get the kids back, but some of them have just disappeared, or were already dead when they found them).

Despite this, the three older kids are far from stupid, and manage too often to eavesdrop the conversations between the Demolition Boys. Which is also how they found out that the reasons why they were all being told to stick together and never leave without one of the Demolition Boys is because the risk of being kidnapped is still seriously high. Or how they found out that Boris is in jail, but still a threat.

Ian gives Ivan a stern look, and answers with a placid voice: “Yes, everything is fine. Not that you are supposed to know anything about it”

“Come on, man, we’ve already said this too many times...” Piter pipes in.

“And yet, apparently” Ian interrupts him with a hard glare: “I need to say this once again. You are not supposed to know about this. Stop trying to eavesdrop. Stop trying to do our job. We’re here to protect you, just like we’re here to protect the younger kids” he says in a calm but unyealding voice.

“Whatever” Piter rolls his eyes, admitting defeat. They know better than to push Ian, when he uses that tone of voice.

“No, look, seriously” Ivan insists and clarifies: “we don’t want to do your job. We know we couldn’t protect ourselves, let alone someone else. It’s why we have stuck to the rule of never going out with one of you guys, too. But, please, be honest with us. Protect us if you must, but don't lie to us. Are we in danger?”

Ian looks at his charge, locking eyes with him, blue fixed in the grayish green of Ivan’s ones. This particular shade is quite rare, and yet both him and Piter have it. It’s one of the very few physical traits that they have in common, seeing that, beside that, one is blond, the other brunet.

“You aren't, but only because Tala is good at keeping us out of troubles” Ian replies, picking carefully the words. He wants to reassure them, and he knows they won’t drop this conversation until they feel they have been confided something important. He understands the need to help, to contribute protecting their family. Still, this doesn’t mean he will break the oath he's made with the other Demolition Boys, of keeping their charges from knowing the bad things they still put up with.

The teens hold Ian's gaze and then they turn, only partly satisfied with the answer. They have already insisted beyond the usual, and they know. They won’t pressure more, they know he has already told them what he could. It’s not all, but they know it has to be enough.

They focus once again on Mikail and cheer him, keeping track of his expression and looking for the details that tell them whether it’s better to encourage or cheer.

For a while, Ian doesn't say anything, just stares at Mikail and the other two boys, and mulls over what they have said about Tala.

Ian knows what Ivan meant. He also knows that he meant no harm, and they would never be afraid, angry or jealous of Tala. Still, it is a fact that Tala can't make mistakes, when it comes to physical activities or intellectual tasks. He still fucks up, of course, but it's eer, the way he almost never fails. And the fact that a guy like Tala knows so much about dance, and that he knows what Mikail should do, and that he recognizes what is best for his future as a dancer... All that can't be just because his brain has been upgraded. There must be some previous knowledge of some sort, and, well. Tala just doesn't look like he's been doing anything else beside blading, all his life.

And yet Tala is incredibly competent as a tutor for Mikail. He is also too strict with Mikails’ practices, and too nervous about this show, the way only someone directly involved with dance could probably ever be. Ian wonders whether it’s really the show to bother him, in the first place.

Tala’s unguarded, soft expression from the day before pops up in Ian’s mind. His confession on how he was feeling now sounds even more alarming. Tala has said that there was no chance Boris would make it out of prison, and Ian has never questioned Tala’s knowledge of court related stuff, but he can’t help but wonder, what would they do, they day Tala will fall inevitably sick and won’t make it to court, anymore.

It’s definitely better if his charges don’t know about his fears.

His thoughts are interrupted by Ivan and Piter bolting from their seats, rushing towards Mikail. Ian realizes a second too late that, while he was lost in his considerations, Mikail has stopped spinning, has collapsed on the bar in front of him, and is now on the floor.

He immediately stops the music, running to Mikail’s crouched form. Ivan and Piter are at his sides, each with a hand on his shoulders. The boy’s breathing is coming out shallow and shaky, and there are tears on his face.

Ian curses himself: the boy must have been crying while doing a good part of his drills. He hunches down close to Piter, and pushes Mikail’s head up with a firm hand on his jaw. Mikail’s incredibly blue eyes are filled with tears, his cheeks are blushing, but his lips are sickly white.

Coupled with the uneven breathing patterns, it doesn't take long for Ian to figure out what’s happening.

He grabs Mikail’s shoulders and brings the boy to his chest, kneeling close to him. He hugs him, enveloping him in an embrace that inspires safety and calm. Mikail’s arms fly at Ian's sides, and he hides his face in Ian's chest.

It’s kind of weird, because, were they standing, Mikail would be a good span taller than Ian, but, now that he’s almost sprawled on the floor, he barely reaches Ian’s shoulder. Ivan and Piter alternate caressing the blond's hair and arms.

“Hey, there” Ian, says, whispering towards Mikail’s head: “You’re ok, Mik, you’re ok”

“You’re safe, brother” Piter adds, fingers stroking the blond’s shoulder: “There is no harm in reach”

“You’re with us, you’re at home” Ivan adds, and, boy, the way it warms Ian’s heart to hear his boys say that, he really isn't surprised that it has an immediately calming effect on Mikail.

“Could you tell us what went so disastrously wrong?” Ian tries to joke, attempting a light voice.

Mikail sobs, but his shoulders stop shaking. He’s trying to control the panic attack, even though he’s clearly not regained full control yet. Still, considering that he’s one of the few kids who gets them very rarely, he’s doing a good job at trying to reign it in.

“I keep fucking it up. I keep fucking it up” he murmurs, frantically shaking his head against Ian’s chest. The Wyborg’s master lifts again his chin with a finger, in a firm but gentle move, and calmly demands to know what the boy keeps fucking up.

“I keep seeing his eyes when he said that.. When he said.. And Tala said..”

“Mikail, look at me” Ian calls him, the authority in his voice making the boy’s head snap up a bit too sharply. It reminds him less their new life, and more the Abbey. The other two boys must have the same impression, because they silently slid closer to the boy on the floor.

Mikail whimpers sounds that are not words for a while, and Ian arranges him so that he lies on his chest, facing also his best friends. On Ian’s left, Piter sits so close to Ian and Mikail that the dancer's body ends up partly lying on him as well. On the opposite side, Ivan sits opposite to Mikail, and grabs his hand, squeezing it in his own.

Ian strokes Mikail’s face a couple of time, and the boy finally stops crying, his breathing back to normal. Shame must be creeping in, because his cheeks get redder, and he tries to lower his eyes, but Ian is having none of that. He lifts his chin again, and demands again to know.

“I thought about Boris” he confesses.

Unconsciously, the boys flinch, and double their efforts on calming and reassuring the boy, hand squeezing harder, chest pressed close more firmly.

“I’ve been thinking about what he said. I have for a while. Last time, I’ve.. I have stupidly told Tala” Mik takes a break to swallow a sob, and starts again: “He's told me to not think about it. He's told me that, the more I thought about it, the more I was letting Boris win. He was right, I knew Tala was, but.. I couldn’t stop thinking it. Then he said..”

Ian can’t help but worry that Tala might have said the worst thing possible, in a fit of rage.

“He said what?” asks Ivan, looking pointedly into Mikail’s blue eyes.

Mikail shakes his head, once again trying to lower his head but not allowed by Ian’s fingers. He’s clearly burning with shame, and Ian burns to know why. He’s starting to get suspicious that it’s not that Tala said something vicious, blinded by anger... but he can't imagine what else is this about.

“He said” Mikail whispers, barely audible: “He said that I was a good dancer, that my body was made to dance, and that there was no way my soul would let me do something but to dance. He said that I just had to listen to my soul, and let it dance in my place”

Ian frowns.

Piter frowns, too, and looks up to him with a questioning look.

Ivan makes a face, and hesitantly points out that, for Tala, that sounds like a very delicate, very poetic and beautiful encouragement. It doesn't really sound like the normal redhead, but still, that's hardly something you should cry for.

“I know, but..” Mikail’s eyes close in frustration: “I can’t… I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t tell you”

Ian lifts the boy’s face again, and keeps quiet, until Mikail has to open his eyes, and look straight into Ian’s deep blue ones. Ian knows he is wearing his very serious expression, but he doesn't care: he’s starting to get worried. Mikail is ashamed of what he’s thinking, and that is never a healthy thing. Especially because, whatever he is thinking, Ian doubts that he has a reasonable reason to punish himself with that much shame.

“You don’t understand” Mikail says, with such a broken look that it keeps Ian and the boys silently waiting for him to go on: “It’s.. it’s the same thing that Madame says when someone feels insecure. Completely identical”

Ivan and Piter frown again.

“Who's Madame?” Ivan asks.

“So?” Piter asks.

Ian is silent, because his big brain has received some upgrading from the Abbey as well, and he is starting to understand what Mik is implicitly saying And he is also slightly appalled at what this implies.

He doesn’t know what Tala was, before the Abbey. He knows that he was a child when he got in, and that by then he had already been living with Bryan for a whole year at least. This lack of information isn't surprising: no one of them has ever talked in details about their lives, what they were before entering Balkov Abbey. Tala and Bryan have mentioned living in the streets for some time, but they have barely said anything about before.

Ian has never asked because, well. He has never shared his own story, either. It hurts too much. He has always just assumed that it was the same for them, too.

“Madame is the principal of my dance school. She is also one of the best and most severe teachers. She only teaches to those who she thinks are Primi Ballerini material” Mikail quietly explains, meeting eyes with Ivan: “You have no idea how it felt when she approached me, when she, personally, came to see my tryout, and told me I was in. You have no idea how I’ve felt, when she told me she wanted to personally supervise me” he tells.

Ivan frowns again: “So? She thinks that you’re good. So does Tala”

“Wait, when you said… when you said that Tala told you the same thing… Do you mean, literally the same thing?” Piter asks, tensing for the realization that’s dawning up on him.

Ian keeps quiet and just holds Mikail’s gaze. The boy is pointedly looking at him, as if he expected something, but what, Ian doesn't know.

“Did you know?” he finally asks Ian, with a faintly voice.

Ian doesn’t answer.

Technically, he still doesn't. What if this is all Mikail’s conjectures?

“Mik, sorry brother, but.. I’m still lost” Ivan admits.

Mikail swallows and sits a bit straighter: “Tala told me the precisely same words that Madame uses to say. Which means that he has to have heard them from her. And she was there to my tryout, when he was as well. She said, but I didn’t pay it any mind.. She said she was glad that she’s listened to him, and given me the chance for the tryout, because she could see my teacher, in what I was doing. I have no idea how stupid I was, for not realizing what that meant..”

“Wait” Ivan says, eyes wide as saucers: “are you implying that Tala was...”

“No way. He’s been beyblading for all his life!” Piter points out, still frowning: “I really can’t picture him dancing”

“That’s because you haven’t seen him” Mikail whispers, so softly that they might just be reading his lips.

Ian swallows.

Mikail is still looking at him: “Did you know?” he asks again.

“Technically, yours are only suppositions” Ian replies.

Mikail’s mouth curls up in a sad, bitter smirk: “Ian, only because I’ve never asked him personally if he was a dancer before the Abbey, and I have never heard him answering me that yes, he was, I still can be sure of it. Have you ever seen him dancing?”

Admittedly, he has seen Tala anticipate some of the moves for Mikail, and wondered how in hell could his captain execute the moves so smoothly. Too smoothly, so much that it couldn't have just been his upgraded brain. He doesn’t answer, because he’s pretty sure that, even if Tala’s past comes like a revelation, it’s not the main point of discussion, here.

“I thought they’ve accepted me because I was good” Mikail’s voice lowers to a whimper: “I thought I had something to offer. Something mine. That she was giving me attention because I’m good. But then I realized.. She accepted me just because I remind her of Tala. Because I dance like him. Obviously, since he’s my teacher. And she probably only took me in because he asked”

See? This was the point of discussion.

“What?!” Ivan frowns, shaking his head: “What the hell are you saying?”

“Brother..” Piter starts, then drags Mikail’s shoulders back enough that he can see straight into his blue eyes: “You do realize that you’re talking nonsense, right?”

“Piter is right” Ian joins: “you said she trains the best. If she does, it means you are among the best. What’s the problem with that? Who cares if she gave you the tryout because, maybe, she knows Tala” he pauses to look sternly at Mikail: “She gave the chance to you, and she gave it personally, didn’t she?”

“You have something to offer, Mik. You’re a fucking angel when you dance!” Ivan adds: “Just because you dance like Tala might have danced, probably, and oh god it feels so weird to say it.. But it doesn't mean you’re any less good as a dancer, for that. She still trains you because you’re good, not because you remind her of him!”

Mikail shuts his eyes, shaking his head: “You don’t understand...”

“Then explain us!” Piter demands.

“I can’t keep up with him!” Mikail bursts out, shooting his best friend a glare.

Silence.

“I can’t keep up with him, because he was fucking perfect back then, and he is still so fucking flawless. Even after all these years, even after years with no training at all, he looks like he's never stopped! He dances like he has never gone one day without dancing in his whole life!! How in hell can I keep up with that!”

Ivan and Piter are speechless.

Ian refrains from sighing.

Even if it’s still a surprise, and he still could never for the life of him picture Tala ever wishing to be anything else but a professional beyblader, the kid might be right. Hell, he probably really is. But, even admitting that his very temperamental captain, even if he used to be a dancer, one as good as Mikail says... that doesn’t mean that Mikail should compare himself to anyone, but himself.

“I don’t understand why can’t you just focus on what you do, instead of wasting energy on what he might, _maybe_ , have been” he calmly points out: “He’s helping you because he thinks you’re worthy. This Madame thinks you’re Primo Ballerino material. Who the fuck cares about the fact that, _maybe_ , Tala used to be a dancer, too?”

“He keeps saying that you’re the best dancer he’s ever seen, Mikail” Ivan adds, in a softer tone than Ian’s progressively angrier and angrier one: “I don’t even think you’re being honest, here, brother”

Mikail flashes him an angry glare, daring him to go on, and Ivan does, fearless as always, but equally losing his cool demeanor.

“You say you feel like you can’t keep up with him, but he’s never used himself as a standard. He supports you, and he says that you’re the best around. Look at what he’s done for you, just because he thinks you’re worthy of his time, and his effort! He’s never even told you whether he used to be a dancer or not, and I bet it is because he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to keep up to his level!”

Mikail is silent, slightly taken aback by his friend’s harsh tone, but also letting the words sink in.

“I heard him saying that you’ve done this stupid spinnings to perfection, in the past" Ian says: “I remember him saying that you are perfect. He’s not using himself, or anyone else, as a standard for you. He’s using you, you stupid idiot” he adds, smiling softly and encouragingly.

Mikail stares at him, looking lost and suddenly so young, and it’s really endearing because he does look adorable when he’s like this, but at the same time it breaks Ian’s heart, because he looks lost, and Ian doesn't like when he does. The urge to protect these three boys sometimes is really at odds with itself, a complete paradox.

“So, brother” Piter pipes in, smiling one of his dazzling smiles: “we know you adore the man and are completely in love with him, but” Mikail squeaks, face red for an entirely different kind of shame now: “why don’t you stop with this bullshit, and give us some angelic dancing, again?”

“I totally agree” Ian nods, pushing Mikail up the floor.

He stumbles, looking less and less lost, and more and more confident. He smiles, and then goes back to the center of the gym.

“Stop saying I’m in love with him!” he shouts, standing in position and waiting for Ian to start the music.

Ian does, and they retreat into their previous seats, to watch the blond dancer practice with renewed energy. They cheer again, encouraging him when his frown suggest them that he’s done something wrong, but the frowns are less than before, and the moves, even if they wouldn’t really know, gets better and better, till perfection.

“He’s so in love with Tala” Ivan chuckles to Piter.

“Dude, I hope Bryan is up for a threesome” adds Ivan.

“Who knows, maybe in the couple of years before Mik’s eighteen, someone might convince him” Ian considers, smirking.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go with the third chapter. Next one will focus more on Valerya, and TalaBryan, I promise.


	4. Or Maybe Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still Demolition Boys dynamics.  
> Emotional Ian, because that's what human beings do. Slightly depressed thoughts but I swear it's very slight.

Ian is on the subway, silently focusing on the music playing in his big headphones. He keeps his eyes closed, one hand in the pocket of his black, thick coat, the other clutching the pole. He clenches the fist in his pocket and his fingers on the pole absentmindedly twitch, following the rhythm of the song playing.

It’s not one of his own, but still is a very good song, even if a bit too emotional for his taste. Whatever, that is why it isn’t one of his songs, isn’t it? The girl singing has a pleasant voice, and, it doesn’t matter the emo lyrics: Apocalyptica always know how to do their music.

He is tired from the night he has just finished. He is well aware that there are many jobs much more tiring than his. He will easily admit that even the most tiring night at the club could never be compared to the least tiring training session in the Abbey, but, still. Maybe he’s getting older, maybe he’s getting softer, he just feels exhausted.

Or maybe he is just desperate, after seeing Valeryia dancing on the stage for hours, always so close and yet so far, utterly out of reach. Maybe it’s the longing from not-so-far that is slowly consuming him.

The song changes, and thank god this is his stop. His defenses are so weak in this moment, he might even end up doing something like cry, just because of the way this song hits home, striking into his core.

He thinks of Valeryia, and he tries to focus on the steps that he has to take, to get off the train, to get on the stairs, to walk out the station.

He thinks of Valeryia, when the skin of his face is hit by the cold whipping air of early mornings, when the darkness of the night gives in to daylight. He tries to convince himself that the stinging on his cheeks is the biting cold of the icy air, not the tears that freeze on his skin.

He thinks of Valeryia, and ‘Jesus, God, Mother Nature, why did you have to fucking give me this weepy heart? Couldn’t I be made of stone?’

He stops in a dark alley and pauses the music, angrily pushing on the button of his phone. He can’t think straight with that song haunting him. He hates it when life leaves him so worn out, so exposed, so painfully open, that even an innocent song can cut through and make his heart bleed.

He angrily wipes the tears out with the sleeve of his coat.

He won’t cry.

He won’t fucking cry, Jesus, hell and all the fucking saints, and if he is already doing it, then fuck it, he has to stop. He tries to focus on his breathing, on the silence around him. The city looks dormant at such an early hour, but, cities like Moscow, they never really sleep. There are faint noises filtering from closed doors and shut windows, echoes of voices, cars passing close to the alley in whose shadows he has found shelter.

He won’t cry.

There is no reason to, he tells himself.

Standing in the middle of a dark alley, silent, with his hands joined over his nose and mouth.

He wills himself to stop crying. At some point, he starts begging his brain to just focus on another train of thoughts, to stop providing mental images and memories of Valeryia smiling, Valeryia laughing, Valeryia talking, dancing, hugging colleagues and customers, kissing strangers on their cheeks…

‘Oh god, please, kill me now, I can’t take this anymore’ he fights to hold down a sob.

He started the DJ job because seeing her, his beautiful muse, was the best thing to brighten his day, even a week after. But then this gnawing feeling had started, the feeling that it wasn't enough and he had to see her again, and again, and again, until he’s reached the point that it doesn't matter if he sees her every day, it’s never going to be enough, never going to make up for the fact that he will always be a stranger for her...

He can’t talk to her.

‘God, why did you have to make me fall in love with a woman so beautiful? Couldn’t it be someone I might have a slight chance with?’

He finally manages to stop crying and regains control over his breathing.

He wipes carefully at his cheeks, so that the cold air won’t leave traces of the tears. He doesn't like to admit to himself that he cried, and he will be dead before letting his teammates find out. Especially because, god help him, they might take it seriously and ask how he’s doing. If he’s _in_ _pain_.

Ian wants to kick himself. He will be dead before giving them the chance to ask him that. He has survived the Abbey, and he has managed to go through all the shit of the rehab after, all with his usual, cynical sarcasm, and definitely without so much as ever admitting he was, or had been, in pain.

And if he has managed to survive the Abbey without admitting being in pain, he surely will never say he is in pain now, because he is suffering for love.

A laughing fit bursts out. Love: here he is, fucking suffering for love. And he called the lyrics emo! He sounds like a pathetic, weak boy, and he is definitely not. Not even the youngest of his charges would lose it like he is right now, and that though is enough to push him, to help him regain control of himself, and act like a fucking adult.

He breathes heavily for a while, then starts walking once again. He keeps his headphones, but doesn’t switch the music on again. He still feels too raw, too exposed for that. He doesn’t want a repeat of that break down.

He walks with hasty steps, almost running on the empty streets of Moscow, avoiding those where people are starting to flow. He reaches the gates of the school in barely fifteen minutes, and swipes his card in the slot with the code. He has designed the whole alarm system, and could sneak in even blinded. He updates the system every two weeks, even if he probably didn't have to bother. It just feels safer this way. Who knows what Boris’ goons might try to do, with the kids all grouped in one place...

He pushes the gate and slams it closed behind himself, but checks that it closes before leaving, for the same reason. There’s nothing like too much prudence with Boris.

He sneaks through the front door, sliding card and punching in codes, cautiously closing the door and punching the closing code, again. He walks the corridor along the gym on the ground floor, and takes the stairs to the first floor. They never use the elevator, which has been put there more in case someone breaks a leg, than for actual daily use.

At the first floor the classrooms are, as expected for the early hour, still silent and dark, all the four doors closed. The library room looks as empty as the others, and Ian walks further upstairs. The next floor shows sign of being actually in use: there are lights and muffled sounds coming from the door of the kitchen, and Ian can guess Spencer is already at work in there, since he’s the designated cook for breakfasts, being an insanely early riser.

He hesitates a while, throwing glances to the silent lounge room and the dining room. Spencer is the only one around, and, judging from the sounds of it, he is busy with some serious cooking.A busy Spencer means a Spencer who wouldn’t notice if Ian sneaked upstairs, even knowing that he is supposed to come back from work around this hour.

Ian still feels the stinging burn of the tears on his cheeks, and wouldn’t want Spencer, of all people, to notice them. But then again, he should keep to his usual behavior, if he doesn’t want to arouse suspiciousness.

He sighs, checks his face in the mirror on the wall (thank you Tala, for insisting on hanging it there), and slowly walks to the closed door. He pauses and slightly knocks, knowing better than to barge in and startle Spencer, when he’s this close to knives.

He hears his friend's deep voice rumbling a ‘come in, Ian’, and smiles, slipping inside and closing the door behind his back.

“How did you know it was me?” he asks, sitting at the long bench that runs along the table. On week days they and the kids have breakfast in here, while for all the other meals, and for breakfast on weekends, they eat in the dining room.

“Who else would be around at this hour?” Spencer asks, smirking from above his wide shoulders.

Ian tilts his head in acknowledgement, and drops his bag on the bench. He starts untying his coat with one hand, the other limp at his side, eyes trained on Spencer. It looks like it’s pancake day again, judging from the ingredients stocked on the counter.

“You’re going to make the kids happy, with those” he comments.

Spencer scoffs and casts him a benevolent smile: “And you not?”

Ian shakes his shoulders: “You know I’m more of a salty breakfast type”

“Like hell you are” Spencer calls him on the innocent lie: “and even if you were, don’t you see?” he adds, and moves to show him the cheese and bacon omelettes, piled in a very high pile, still steaming.

“I love you, man” Ian breathes out, making a move to stand.

Spencer raises his spatula to stop him: “Stay there. Do you want coffee?” he asks, sliding one of the omelettes on a dish, and bringing it to Ian alongside with cutlery.

Ian looks at the plate and at his friend like he was a god send. As soon as he grabs the fork, a cup of steaming black coffee joins the dish.

“I really, really love you” Ian mumbles with his mouth full.

“Finish chewing your food, first. God, you’re worst than the kids, sometime” Spencer scolds him, pretending to care that he’s talking with his mouth full: “How was work?”

‘Heartbreaking’.

“Good” he lies, smiling.

Spencer, who often looks like an idiot, but is unfortunately anything but, snorts and smiles: “Suuuure” he drawls out: “Am I supposed to believe that? Come on, what happened? Did you stab someone again?”

“Ok, now, it wasn’t even me in the first place. The stabbing is Bryan’s thing, and you know it” Ian protests, munching and swallowing around a big bite of the omelette. AIt tastes so good, it is the proof that Spencer really is an artist with breakfast food. Lunches and dinners are also quite good, but breakfasts are definitely his forte.

“It’s just that it was a whole night, and I’m tired” Ian says, shrugging.

“M-m. I really should be concerned, if I look this much an idiot. Or maybe I should exploit it. People would tell their deepest secrets in front of me, because they would believe I am too stupid to understand what they are saying”

Ian sighs rolling his eyes.

Sass, at this early hour in the morning, is fire that he’s really too tired to fight with fire.

“Spence, Come on... Why does it have to be another reason? Can’t I be tired? It’s not Tala’s prerogative, you know. Or Mikail’s”

“Speaking of Tala, I’m pretty sure he is coming down with something. That, or he’s pregnant”

Ian flinches at the mental image: “Dude, that’s... disturbing. I’m picturing Tala with a belly. And Bryan in a full soon-to-be-daddy anxiety mode? Le’s not talk about that”

Spencer chuckles: “Yeah, I know. But, I’m serious, Ian. Tala is letting his guard down more and more often, and that is something he only does when he’s sick. Yesterday I caught him at least twice looking at Bryan with moony eyes. In a room full of people!”

“What was Bryan doing?” Ian asks, sincerely curious.

Spencer scoffs: “Reading to the children. He was on his stomach on the couch, and the younger kids were all draped on him like he himself was the couch. You should have seen that their eyes were shining, so focused they were on the story”

“Damn. How could I miss that!”

“You’d left already”

‘To have my heart broken and stomped on. Great’

“Too bad” he groans: “Must’ve been quite a sight”

“It was” Spencer admits: “but, Tala getting caught making moony eyes?”

Ian frowns: “Yesterday night he told me he was worried because of the new trial. I think the last time he’s been this open with his emotions was right after the coma”

“See? He’s clearly coming down with something” Spencer reasons.

Ian nods, still frowning, and takes a sip of his coffee: “He might” he agrees: “are you going to suggest that he visits a doctor? Because I don't see that going well. I mean, only telling Bryan to would be worse”

“Which is why I needed to be sure it’s not only my impression, before actually approaching the topic with him. Collecting evidence, you know”

“I do. But, if you hope that I’m going to offer to do that for you, I’ll tell you, you’re not buying me with coffee and breakfast”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head: “I’ve got a better plan, don’t worry. We’ll just tell Bryan, and let him do the approaching”

Ian grins mischievously: “He might approach him for something else”

Spencer groans at that: “Please, you’re not the one who caught them in the office. Thank god they were still dressed.. partially, at least”

“I’ve walked in on them, too, you know” Ian chuckles again: “not later than yesterday, and in the middle of the corridor, when I was on my way for work. I swear, I would have never bet on Tala liking so much being manhandled!”

“Good for your money, ‘cause I would have” Spencer placidly replies, and Ian almost chokes on his coffee.

“I don’t wanna know why you thought that” He mutters, wiping at the coffee stains on the table with a random napkin.

Spencer’s grin is feral: “You think just because you’re the house nerd you’re the only one who knows how to use the internet?” he challenges, then chuckles again, shaking his head: “Those two. We should have known they’d never kept their hands off each others, once we’d managed to put them together”

Ian wholeheartedly agrees, but at the same time is also very happy for his friends: “At least now Tala is slightly less likely to have a heart attack for the stress. He can let it out getting laid”

“Yeah, when that moron doesn’t kill me” a raspy voice pipes in, making Ian jump, and attracting Spencer’s trained eyes. Judging from the blond's calm reaction, he must have noticed the door opening and Tala coming in, while Ian, sitting with the door at his back, couldn’t have.

Their redheaded captain staggers into the kitchen, lifting a leg to straddle the bench close to Ian, and then unceremoniously letting himself fall on his butt. He puts his elbows on the table and pushes his hands on his face and hair, trying to comb through the red mane.

“Coffee?” Spencer asks, noticing the big yawn that peeks through Tala’s joined hands.

“Yes, please” the redhead replies, almost slamming his hands on the table.

Ian smirks and winks at Spencer, who sits back on the bench sliding a steaming cup of coffee for Tala.

“Thank you” the captain greedily accepts the cup and brings it to his lips.

“Should we tell Bryan to give you a break? Let you rest? You look exhausted” Ian taunts him.

“And you’re not even the one who worked all night” Spencer adds, and Ian winces at the jibe against him.

Tala frowns and turns to Ian: “Have you been out all night again? I thought you said you’d be working only a couple of hours”

‘Yeah, but Valeryia worked all night long..’

Ian shrugs: “I’ve changed my mind when I was there”

He’s technically not lying, but Tala’s inquiring stare is still hard to hold, and he focuses momentarily on cutting another bite of his food and munching on it.

“Uh” Tala says, clearly not convinced, but he doesn’t insist: “whatever. Don’t come and tell me you’re too tired to teach, though” he warns him.

“Don’t worry, if you can manage, I should as well. Considering that I didn’t spend my whole night busy making crazy sex” he smirks, slightly aware of how childish he sounds, but, who cares.

He expected Tala to glare at him and possibly blush a bit, not to just nod, drink another sip of coffee, and mutter ‘No kidding’.

Ian’s and Spencer’s eyes go incredibly wide, and they look at the redhead as if he’s sprout a second head. It must be what probably makes him realize that he has said something he shouldn’t have. He’s still looking at both of them, nursing the cup in both hands, mouth working open and closed, trying and failing to say something, when Spencer curses quite loudly and reaches for the redhead’s neck.

He lowers with two fingers the hem of Tala’s night shirt, cupping his neck with the other hand, and leans in to critically look at the blossoming red on Tala’s neck, throat and shoulder.

Noticing all that bruising, Ian’s eyes go even wider, and that’s exactly the moment when he notices the faint red circles on Tala’s wrists.

“Woah” he lets out, because, ok, there is a difference between knowing that his friend probably likes to be manhandled in bed, but it’s another topic entirely to see the actual evidence of it.

Spencer is still eyeing critically at Tala’s neck, and blocks with a big hand the arm that Tala raises, in protest and trying to cover himself.

“I fucking told him to calm down!” Spencer angrily mutters.

Ian’s eyes go, if possible, even wider, and he looks at Spencer as if he said he’d marry Boris: “You what?!” he squeaks.

“Spence, remember when I told you how embarrassing is when one of your best friends behaves like your mother?” Tala tries to protest with all the sarcasm that he can muster despite his disappearing.

“What?!” Ian squeaks again, flashing Spencer an accusing glare: “How do you even know what they do?

Spencer glares at Ian, and he immediately closes his mouth and goes back to a more composed position. For good measure, he takes another bite of his omelette, actually finishing it, and chews on it very slowly.

Spencer turns his eyes to Tala’s, fixing him with a steady glare, calm but damn serious: “I don’t fucking care, and you know. You can do whatever the fuck you want when it’s only the two of you, but I told you, you can’t show up with these signs on, and go to the kids. It would be bad if the oldest saw. What would you do, if Babygirl, or Nikolay, or one of the other youngers saw them? The majority of them would probably think that Bryan has been hitting you”

“Please tell me he doesn’t” Ian blurts out, looking at Tala with pleading eyes: “Please, tell me that, ok, he manhandles you and clearly ties you up, but, tell me he doesn’t really hit you”

Tala startles, horrified: “No!” he almost shouts, in protest: “how can you even think that?” he asks, seriously hurt and offended at the question

“You’re covered in bruises, Tala” Ian points out.

Tala sighs and shakes his head: “He doesn’t hit me, ok? And he never ties me, either. These” and he shows his wrists: “are the result of his attempt to bring me to the doctor, yesterday” he confesses.

Spencer looks lost: “What?”

“I swear. I told him I was fine, but he has this crazy idea that I must be coming down with something, god knows where he's even got it...” Tala goes on, and Spencer finally lets him go.

‘So, even Bryan noticed’ Ian’s eyes tell Spencer’s.

‘Thank god he doesn’t hit him’, Ian’s brain adds.

“You put a turtleneck on, today, anyway” Spencer says, finger pointed at Tala.

He rolls his eyes and nods: “I actually planned on wearing it before even leaving my room, I just forgot to” he pliantly says: “don’t worry, I don’t want the kids to know anything about my sexual life”

“Which they already know plenty of, considering the times you used to come home at the oddest hours” Ian adds, smirking and sipping coffee.

“Shut up. You’re just jealous” Tala mumbles, sipping coffee himself, slightly embarrassed at being reminded of his womanizing past.

Ian’s brain provides him with a painful memory of Valeryia, ‘If only it was that simple’

“Not really” he scoffs.

Spencer lifts an eyebrow, and throws a confused glance to Ian: “I thought you weren’t gay?”

Ian almost chokes on his coffee again, and Tala chuckles. “I’m not” he clarifies, swallowing the coffee: “I’m just not as slutty as Tala”

“Not that you could ever afford to be” Tala taunts him, and, before Ian can stop himself, he’s let out the ‘obviously’ he’s thinking.

Cue in awkward silence.

He drinks another sip of coffee, finishing it, and stares at the table.

“Ooooook” Spencer says: “we’ll go back to Ian and his brooding in a while. Tala, did Bryan say anything in particular when he mentioned that you should see a doctor?”

Tala looks alarmed, and slowly gets up: “I’m going upstairs to shower and wear that turtleneck we talked about” he states, ignoring the question. Which is a tactic that never works with Spencer, and he should know. The blond grabs his wrist and doesn’t let him go, not even when he is glared with all the icy hostility that Tala can muster.

“Let go”

“Answer me”

“No”

“Tala...” Ian pipes in: “you said that Bryan was worrying for nothing, didn't you? That he is seeing things. If it's so obvious that you don’t need a doctor, why would you not tell us what Bryan thinks you have?” he argues, logically.

Tala swallows: “I’m fine”

“Pretty sure that’s not what we’ve asked” Spencer states, and Tala holds his gaze for a while, then sighs, his shoulders losing their tension and sagging a bit: “It’s the coma, ok?” he admits, very, very, very much unwillingly.

Ian and Spencer both frown at him.

“I.. The doctors told me that the stress that I’m currently facing with the trials and all could lead me to, in the best case, a nervous breakdown, and, in the worst one, a heart attack. And it's still because of the lingering effects of the fucking coma, which, apparently, are never going to disappear entirely”

Ian swallows.

Spencer drags Tala’s wrist downward, forcing their captain to sit again: “What?” he asks, obviously trying to control his anger.

“When did they tell you something like this? They only recommended that you rest, after you woke up. They haven’t mentioned anything else, after that. We were all with you at the last check up you had to do, before they let you out...” Ian tries to remember.

Tala sighs again: “I had to go for another check-up last month. It was just one of those stupid check-up they do even if they don't expect to find anything. Routine things. You weren’t there. Bryan shouldn’t have, either, but he insisted that I let him come with, because he’s childish like that”

“Childish?” Spencer echoes, his tone incredulous and venom-ridden: “ _He_ is being childish? Have you got any idea what the fuck are you risking, with this lifestyle of yours?”

Spencer sounds like a very angry mom, but Ian would never reprimand him for it. Especially not right now, and not only because he knows Spencer is angry, and he himself is not suicidal to challenge an angry Spencer. He absolutely agrees with Spencer here. Tala barely sleeps, barely eats, and even when he does it’s mainly because Bryan forces him to, or the kids ask him to join them. He’s always running from court to lawyers, then there are the classes he’s taking at the university, and Mikail’s training...

“You must be crazy” Ian mutters, standing up and bringing his dish and cup to the sink. He turns and points a finger to Tala, who swallows, trying to put up his proud, leader-like expression, but too aware that it will not work, that he’s not going to win this battle. Probably not even really wanting to, because even Tala is not suicidal. Masochist, maybe, but not suicidal. He knows he is in deep shit, and not because he is being scolded by his friends. He must have realized his body isn't keeping up with this rhythm.

“You’re going to start eating with us, and you're going to slow the fuck down on your rhythms. I don’t care if we have to fucking tie you to your bed. Got it?”

Tala takes a deep breath, visibly restraining himself from replying and trying to stay calm. He is not used to be told what to do, he is the leader after all, but he isn't stupid, and he know Ian is right. Ian appreciates his efforts, but at the same time it only proves him that Tala consciously knows how tired his body must be, and this only pisses Ian off more.

"Jesus, fuck, Tala. I can’t believe you can’t take care of yourself” Ian angrily mutters.

“I can-” Tala angrily points out in a childish voice, but Ian interrupts him.

“You clearly can’t, since, a whole month ago, a doctor told you to slow the fuck down. And you haven’t, yet!”

“OK, Ian, stop now” Spencer raises one hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. He points his finger to Tala: “You go have your shower, and put on that goddamn turtleneck. I’m going to finish the breakfast for the kids, and Ian here is going to put some music to wake them up. And then you’re going to have breakfast with us, and I expect to see you slowing the fuck down, or so help me god, Tala... so help me god.”

For a moment, Tala looks like he will not manage to keep his mouth shut. He looks so ready to insult Spencer that he doesn't actually have to voice it. Still, because he knows how to be reasonable, and when he has to capitulate, he swallows and shakes his head. It is also the signal that tells Ian and Spencer that Tala must feel really bad already, or he would never let them push him around like this. And that is very, very creepy, and even more worrisome.

Ian swallows: they’ll probably need to bring him soon to a doctor, anyway, even if they manage to have him slow down on his crazy rhythm.

Tala leaves the kitchen without another word, leaving the others to silently stare at the door left ajar.

“Thank god he listened” Spencer sighs, after a while.

“Hopefully it’s not too late” Ian adds, darkly.

“I don’t think it is. The coma has taught him not to push his body too much. Not after what Boris has done to him. He knows he's got limits he didn't have to respect, before. And he knows we wouldn't be aboveputting him on forced bed rest for a month, if he tried to hide when he’s sick, or to downplay it”

“Spence, he has literally just tryied to do exactly that” Ian points out.

Spencer lifts a hand, tiredly: “Ian.. He has admitted he doesn't feel good. We had to push, but he did it. Let’s focus on the achievements, uh?”

Ian shakes his head: “Whatever. I trust your judgement. Do you have any preferences for the music?” he asks, actually needing switching topic, and moving to a lighter one.

“Whatever won’t bring your mood as down as it was when you entered my kitchen” Spencer replies, turning back to the stoves and pretending he hasn’t just acknowledged that Ian was, in fact, not fine, and that he knows it.

Ian swallows: “Spence...”

“You will tell me, Ian. If you don’t want to do it now, that’s fine, but you will” Spencer says, likes promise. It echoes Bryan’s words from a few days before, in a way it equally warms his heart, but also embarrasses him.

He shakes his head, mentally answering ‘not now’, and he goes to connect his computer to the stereo system of the house. He chooses a playlist of his songs, because the kids always like them, and they are unusually bright and happy songs. Which is exactly what they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I was going to give you more of IanxValeryia..


	5. Better, Until Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family and Demolition Boys' dynamics  
> Bryan being hot doing hot stuff  
> Ian at the rescue

If there is something that Ian adores more than music (beside Valeryia), is science. Physics, maths, IT, because, usually, things just obey rules and go exactly how you plan them to go. Unless in particular cases or when you consider some variables, but, generally, Ian relies on these three science to prove that stuff can be explained in a very reasonable way. Cause, and consequence, people, cause and consequence

He sighs, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. On his desk there is a bunch of texts that he is painfully and carefully going through, and he’s fighting the urge to just reach for a couple of his students, shake them, and ask them how in hell do they think it would ever be possible for nature to work in the way they have written it.

It’s not their fault, really. Boris hasn’t really provided them with the best education, the only exception being those things that might have been useful for beyblading, and it shows. Some of the kids have massive black holes of lost scholastic knowledge that he has no idea how they are ever going to fill, even though, admittedly, the progresses they have already made are amazing.

‘But, goddammit, if it’s an inclined plane, and you’re not pushing stuff up, how the fuck can it not sound suspicious, if stuff ends up higher than in their previous position?! They’re supposed to fall, idiot!’

It’s really not the kid’s fault. Lukas is generally a very good student, and his love for chemistry makes him very careful when he’s dealing with physics, too. He must have been distracted, not realizing the absurdity of what he has written.

‘Or maybe he’s trying to tell me something’ he wonders, frowning on the paper. It wouldn’t really be the first time that his students voluntarily fuck something up, to attract his attention. It’s a bit twisted, but it works, and it’s easier than asking straightforwardly for help. They’re still ex-Abbey kids, after all.

He hears a knock on the door and turns just in time to see it opening, Bryan peeking through the crack. The tall blond smirks at him and wiggles his clear eyebrows: “Still doing homework?” he asks.

“Fuck you” Ian growls.

Bryan slips inside and closes the door behind him, walking in a few confident steps to his desk. He’s wearing his usual faded jeans, so low on his hips Ian wonders what is he even wearing his belt for, and a dark blue hoodie. He looks so different from his Abbey-self, much more relaxed, happy in a carefree way, that makes Ian wonders if he himself has changed that much, or if Bryan is the one who the change has affected the most.

Then he remembers that Bryan is the legal tutor of some of the younger kids, Babygirl included, and that he suspects that the reason for Lukas’ distraction is exactly their only girl.

“Hey, is everything alright with Em?”

‘Em’ is short for ‘Malyshka’, the literal Russian translation of Babygirl, and the way they sometimes call the girl.

Bryan sits on the first desk in front of him, arms stretched at his side, hands clutching the edge of the desk. He frowns slightly: “Why shouldn’t it be?” he asks, positively concerned.

Something they would have never anticipated was the deep, sincere attachment Bryan feels for the children that he has formally adopted. Even if it’s true that the four of them all feel closer to the kids that are legally their charges, Bryan in particular is extra-careful and affectionate towards his. The fact that they are almost the youngest ones probably helps, too.

“Did she and Lukas fight again?” Ian asks.

It’s natural, really: having an only girl in a house full of boys, they knew to expect that some of them would inevitably crush on her. Because Babygirl is particularly attractive, as well as already a bit of a tease, she ended up being the first crush of the majority of the older boys, and the nightmare of the youngest ones, too young to figure out why the thirteen years old waste time with her.

Lukas, who is their only fourteen years old boy, has seriously fallen for her, but in that twisted way that doesn't allow him to recognize his feelings for the pretty girl, and instead behaves like an arrogant asshole most of the time. Ian and Spencer find it endearingly stupid, Tala finds it medieval, and Bryan sometimes is seriously scary when he tells the boy off.

The Falcon frowns deeper and leans in a bit: “Not that I am aware. Why?”

“He must have been very, very distracted when he made this” he replies, and shakes the paper he’s holding: “I guessed he must have fought with Em again”

Bryan shakes his head: “They looked fine this morning at breakfast. Hell, she even beamed at him when he went to fetch her book from the library!” he tells, with a smile that almost looks exhausted at the children’s antics.

Ian shakes his head: “Must have been something else, then” he mulls aloud.

“Well” Bryan starts, and then stops, biting the inner of his cheeks, eyes on the ceiling: “maybe he’s just tired. I heard that’s happening a lot recently, in this school” he says with a placid voice, but pinning Ian with a stare so deep, it’s actually chilling.

Ian holds his gaze, trying not to flinch under the scrutiny. Even if they’re not soul-reaching like Tala’s, Bryan’s light green eyes can actually hit pretty deep, too, and it’s difficult to lie to him. A professional liar like Ian, though, can manage to fool Bryan at least a good fifty percent of the time, while with Tala the percentage is close to zero.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No, I’m actually asking you if _you_ have anything to tell _me_ ” Bryan replies, smirking and tilting his head aside just so, that the light in the room makes the green of his eyes even brighter.

It’s in moments like this that Ian realized how unfairly attractive his friend is, and how unfairly not he himself is.

“I don’t” Ian replies, serious and calm. He drops Lukas’ paper on his desk and is reminded very vividly of Tala’s bruised neck, for some reasons. He smirks and raises his eyes in Bryan’s once again, innocently smiling: “Do you have to tell me something about Tala, by the way?”

Bryan frowns: “What about him?”

“Well, it’s not because of me that he’s wearing that turtleneck today, is he?”

Bryan, totally unmoved, doesn’t hesitate replying with a very heartfelt ‘I damn well hope so’.

Ian just shakes his head and tries to go back at correcting his papers.

“Thank you for telling him to calm down, by the way”

Ian raises his eyes in Bryan’s again. His teammate is looking at him with a calm, sincere stare, looking relaxed but not as carefree as he did when he came in. Ian nods slightly: “His wellbeing is our concern as well, you know”

“I do, but thank you for managing going through that thick skull of his”

They hold each others’ stare for a while, and then Ian smiles, looking down again: “I’m used to thick skulls. You’re no better”

“Like you are” Bryan replies, scoffing.

“Shut up, let me finish grading” “How are they going? Beside Lukas fucking up” Bryan inquires.

He’s teaching the kids the rest of the science that Ian doesn’t like, or likes less, so it’s not the first time that they discuss together their students’ scholastic performance.

“He didn’t fuck up really. I mean, the whole thing is actually perfect, if you don’t consider that the conclusion makes no sense at all” he explains, and gives him the graded paper.

Bryan takes it, reads it, and scoffs: “Idiot must have been distracted for good” he murmurs, putting the paper down and grabbing another from the pile of those Ian has already graded.

They spend a while together, Bryan reading through the texts Ian has already marked, and Ian finishing grading the others. They work in relative silence, only commenting here and there to laugh about the most illogic mistakes, which thankfully are very few, and praising the kids’ achievements, which are much more.

“I have a race tomorrow night” Bryan announces at some point, when Ian is sliding all the papers in a transparent envelope.

Ian makes a face and nod: “Good for you” he only says, because there’s only so many times that he can tell Bryan he’s going to kill himself on that damned bike of his, and expect the idiot to actually listen to him and stop.

When Ian took on the DJ job, Tala enrolled for his law degree, and Spencer started working as a security guard in some museums. Bryan, who they had no idea was a good mechanic, but was hardly surprising given his personality, started working in a garage. The owner immediately fell in love with the boy, who shared his passion for motors and bikes, and treated Bryan like a son. His real one, who also liked Bryan and considered him his personal hero, had introduced the Falcon to the world of motocross and dirt bikes racing.

Bryan has built his own bike and has been racing with it for the past year, despite Ian’s and Tala’s open dislike. Apparently, he can’t stay away from dangerous sports and pastime, and it’s not rare that he comes home battered and bruised, and sometimes also broken.

Spencer is the only one who always sides with him, arguing that he’s an adult and can decide whatever the fuck to do with his free time, especially because he always bets on him for his races, and the two of them make a lot of money thanks to Bryan’s ability.

Ian still sides with Tala: it’s dangerous, and not very constructive towards the kids.

“And...” Bryan goes on, looking for Ian’s eyes: “I was wondering if maybe you guys wanted to come”

Ian finally raises his head and looks at him. He doesn’t hide the irritation, but only lifts an eyebrow, letting it silently ask ‘are you fucking serious?’ on his behalf.

“I was talking to Mik, Ivan and Piter, a couple of days ago..” he goes on, and Ian clenches his fists to stop himself from hitting his friend. He’s learned to let him do what he wants with his own life and free time, but he’ll be damned before he lets him corrupt his charges. And if he sounds like an old mother, to hell with it.

“.. and they asked me if they could come and see. Just, you know, to see how it works, not because they’ll ever try it”

Ian holds his gaze, and Bryan is an expressionless mask.

“Did they ask you to ask me, because they know I would never let them go?” he asks, trying to stay calm.

He really shouldn’t get mad: his charges have a real, insane passion for dangerous sports, only slightly encouraged by the fact that one of the Demolition Boys himself practices them. They would have eventually come up with that request, he knows, but, the fact that he knew to expect it, doesn’t mean he’s any happier about it.

“Maybe” Bryan smiles, tilting his head aside a bit further: “Come on, Ian, they’ll be safe within your arm’s reach. So, very close” he teases him, and for once Ian barely shoots him a glare at the barb.

“Why?”

“No reason. They want to see how it is. I’ve figured it would be better if I showed them how it is when I do it, and I can tell them honestly all the pros and cons, instead of letting them go to some low quality, bullshit show”

“I would never let them go, period” Ian replies.

“Ian, they’re going to be eighteen, soon. Have you ever considered the fact that they might simply wait two years and then do it?”

“What the fuck is wrong with them! I already let them try a fucking ton of dangerous sports” Ian grumbles, and is definitely not happy at hearing the whiny tone his voice assumes.

“Look, they want to see, not to try it themselves” Bryan stresses again, and his eyes widen a bit, taking Ian slightly by surprise, because, wow, they’re getting really big and bright and green. He might as well try to bat his eyelashes at him.

“Are you trying to make puppy eyes at me?” he asks, puzzled.

Bryan beams: “Is it working?” Ian is seriously tempted to let his jaw drop, but he’s afraid he would have to bend to the floor to pick it back up, so much he is surprised.

This is all very un-Bryan-like behavior, and he can’t believe what he’s seeing and hearing. He swears under his breath and shakes his head: “Who are you and what have you done with Bryan?”

“Would you believe if I told you this is something Babygirl told me?” Bryan asks, innocent candor and so terribly out of character that is kind of scaring Ian.

“What?”

“Something along the line of honey being better than vinegar”

Ian closes his eyes, and pinches the bridges of his nose to prevent from bursting out laughing.

“Ok, Bryan, they can go. We can go. We’ll come and see your stupid show. Try not to die in front of them, please. No, wait: promise me”

“I promise I won’t die in front of them” Bryan smirks and stands.

Ian sighs: “Why do I feel like I’ve signed for the demise of their soul?”

Bryan just laughs and leaves.

 

\--

 

The show is brutal. Ian has the feeling that this is precisely the reason why Bryan loves this sport.

He’s sitting in one of the top rows of the iron bleachers, Ivan, Piter and Mikail all around him. The boys are watching in rapt fascination the development of the race, and Ian himself must confess he is really enjoy the show. He doesn’t feel any sympathy towards those who fall and end up hurting themselves: if they’re not good at this, they shouldn’t even have com. Bryan, on the other hand, is amazing.

‘A bit too much, maybe’ Ian considers, judging critically the excitement on his charges’ faces, lit up with enthusiasm. He's watching with an amused smirk their joined hands at their mouths. The boys keep looking for Bryan whenever they lose him in the crowd of racers, and cheer loudly when he reappears and passes his opponents.

Bryan’s dark blue bike is covered in mud and dust from the path, and the brownish layer that’s covering its whole surface makes it harder to follow their friend’s every movement. Ian had been initially glad that his bike was a slightly unusual color, but at the moment he can’t almost distinguish a red from a yellow one. The only way they can spot Bryan is following the pitch black shade of his motocross suit, which has managed to not be as smeared as the bike he’s riding.

Mik, the only one sitting on the lower bench, is sliding backwards between Ian’s legs the more the show progress. He’s gasping and keeps his joined hands in front of his mouth, and Ian could swear sometimes he’s heard him mutter prayers. He’s enjoying the race just as much as the other two, but he’s obviously focusing more on the possibility that any harm might befall on Bryan.

Ian smirks at him and elbows Ivan and Piter, respectively, pointing at Mikail. Bryan takes a wild turn and rushes on a slide, to pass all the last opponents still between him and the finish line. He rushes up the slide and then free-falls downward, effectively jumping over the last three bikes, in a maneuver that looks smooth and cool as hell, but also dangerous as fuck.

Mikail clutches Ian’s calf with one hand, the other pressed against his mouth, and his back tenses.

When Bryan lands and runs for the finish line, they nudges Mikail’s sides, and smirks at him.

“I thought you were only into Tala!” Ivan taunts him.

Mikail immediately blushes an incredibly bright shade of red.

“Oh, looks like you really have to talk Bryan into that threesome, Ian!” Piter laughs, winking at their older friend.

Ian laughs back: “Could be my eighteenth birthday’s present for Mik!” he muses, and the other two laughs at Mikail’s reddening face and lame protests.

“Look, brother, no worry. He’s hot, and you like hot, we get it” Piter says in a slightly condescending tone, which still sounds real and truthful.

Mikail turns to the bikes, focusing on Bryan’s once again, and they all watch the Falcon being handed the trophy and raising it in their direction.

Two men run to him, cheering and helping him. The younger of the two looks more or less the same age as Bryan’s, and helps him with the bike. The older one clearly would love to strangle him in a bear-hug, but he obviously must know Bryan, because he settles for a pat on his shoulder.

“Who are those?” Ivan asks, turning to Ian.

“I guess the guys Bryan works with” he honestly answers. Piter bends forward, whispering something to Mik’s ear that the dancer doesn’t like, and gets punched for it. Ivan and Ian laugh at the antics, but don’t press to know what has been whispered. Ian doesn’t need to be told to figure out it was a joke on Mik being jealous for having other contestants. Beside Tala.

They stand and slip among the people, managing to leave the bleachers before the bulk of the crowd has even started standing and slowly reaching for the stairs.

They hurriedly walk towards the areas where the racers have the trailers for their bikes, and spot Bryan with the two men from before.

Bryan has removed the helmet and slid it on an arm, effectively forcing him to keep the elbow slightly bent, and is talking to the older man while pointing proudly at the bike covered in dirt and already tied on the trailer.

“Bryan!” Ivan and Piter rush to the older boy, all but jumping at his feet and trying to hug him, jostling the arm with the helmet.

The two men looks startled at seeing how Bryan let the two newcomers hug him, and keeps his arms over their shoulders, but don’t ask, clearly noticing that they aren’t strangers.

Ian and Mikail join with less hurried excitement, Mik still a bit red on his cheeks.

Bryan smirks at him and wiggles his eyebrow: “So, how many times did you cover your eyes?” he asks, taunting the poor boy in a way that makes Ian suspect that Bryan would not, after all, need all that persuasion for that future threesome. Or at least, he’s well aware that Mikail fancies him for his looks.

Mikail blushes but ties to mask it by rolling his eyes. Ivan and Piter move to make him room, and the dancer hugs Bryan, hiding for a moment his face in Bryan’s shoulder, still covered in the dirty black motocross suit. He’s muttering something that must be an attempt to put Bryan back into place, but only manages to make the Falcon laugh.

“So, Ian” the tallest boy’s arm lingers around Mik’s shoulders, the other with the helmet limp at his side: “how did you like the show?”

Ian shrugs but smiles: “It was alright. At least you didn’t break your head.. or lose!” he replies, and Bryan grins smugly.

“So these are your friends” the old man comments, talking to Bryan.

He lets go of Mikail, who slips both hands in the front pocket of his jeans and moves his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. Ian notices, and realized that the reason for Bryan’s lingering arm was that Mikail was silently crying. The boy, as strong hearted as he is, is also a bit emotional for his friends’ sake, and must have felt relieve that the Falcon is unharmed.

“Yep. This is Ian” Bryan says, pointing at him. Ian raises a hand and shakes the man’s.

“Ivan, Piter and Mikail” Bryan’s hand points at the boys at his side, and they wave.

“Thank you for the tickets, by the way” Piter politely address the older man.

“Yeah, we’ve really enjoyed the race” Ivan nods.

“Any time, boys. We get free tickets almost all the time recently, since Bryan here has become some kind of superstar” he smiles, proudly looking at the Falcon: “I swear I’ve never seen someone that reckless and good. You must be lucky too, I know, but damn if you can really ride a bike!”

“I told him to go professional” the younger man pipes in, shooting Bryan an amicable, proud look that echoes the older man’s one.

Bryan smiles but shakes his head: “I told you, I’ve got a bunch of kids to go professional with” he shakes his shoulder, and Ian will never admit to any living soul that he feels his heart swell at hearing his friend say that.

They’ve been in the Abbey together. They went through its nightmare together, and yet nobody’s experienced the harsh training that Bryan has. It was supposed to make him a soldier, a killer, a ruthless machine.. and yet here he is, hugging younger kids and talking about sports.

Ian feels happy and proud for him.

Ivan and Piter stares at Bryan with awe in their eyes, and hug him again, joking on never letting him go. While they’re busy pretending to be baby-koalas, Mikail just smiles fondly, and looks down.

The older men laughs and don’t insist, noticing as well the affection that the boys have for Bryan and the way he reciprocates. The bond is palpable, and even if they probably don’t know Bryan as deeply as the ex-Abbey kids, they can use their eyes.

They part ways: the two men leave with the trailer, and the two Demolition Boys walk to the subway with the three sixteen years old walking between them. Bryan has changed into his usual jeans and parka, a backpack on his shoulder stuffed with his racing suit and a finger hooked in his helmet. He’s talking about bikes and shows with the kids, and Ian is absentmindedly following the conversation, not really into it, but still checking if his charges are showing too much appreciation for the sport.

That’s when he hears it, and he freezes on the spot, barely managing to put down the foot that was raised to take the next step.

A woman is shouting and crying for help, in a nearby alley, and it’s a voice he knows really well.

His friends have stopped as well, realizing themselves what’s going on and that something has startled Ian.

They turn towards the source of the screams, but before Bryan can ask him what he’s doing, Ian is already running towards the alley.

It’s not the deepest of winter, but cold and late enough for people not to be leisurely walking around the streets, which is probably why nobody has heard the screams yet. This has not played in favor of the woman lying on the floor, clothes thorn and blond hair over her face. Ian can see her even if between him and her there are three men, all quite bulky and looking very angry.

Two of them turn to face him, angry sneer on their face, shouting angrily that he leaves.

His eyes are dead set on the woman on the floor, long legs that look bare, covered in transparent thighs and knee high black socks. She’s not wearing a jacket, and the door behind her is open, so she must have been dragged out of the building against her will. The three men are all wearing coats, so they obviously have planned to drag her out.

She’s hunched on the floor, trying to prop herself up on an elbow, and the little stains of blood trickling from near her face are enough for Ian to know that they must have hit her, split her lips and probably torn a cheek.

He faintly hears Bryan at his back shouting something, and the kids calling his name. Was his mind any more present, he would realize that Bryan is addressing the men and the kids are preparing to launch themselves at them. But he isn’t, his mind far, far away, his fists closing so hard that his knuckles crack.

His eyes are set on the blond hair covering the face of the lying woman, whose fear he can see in her blue eyes even through the blond strands. He looks at her, jaw clenched, and then at the man who’s closer to her, hand still raised in fist.

He jumps at him, over the two sidekicks, and lands on him. He throws a first punch that cracks the man’s nose, and a second that sends him KO. He turns to the two men that are trying to tackle him, vaguely registering that Bryan is moving behind one of them.

The man on the right is viciously slammed against the wall by Bryan, so hard that he slides down unconscious on the floor. The other manages to take a couple of steps but then the kids land on him, Ivan and Piter tackling him and turning him, and Mikail punching at his face with a viciousness that the guy faints at the second hit.

Then Ian turns, facing the woman, who’s looking up at him through beautifully blond hair. He hunches close to her, and slowly raises a hand to take her hair behind her ear, freeing her beautiful blue eyes and staring at the damaged face.

As he imagined, her lip is split, she has a nasty bruise on her cheek, and tears must have slipped when she was hit on her cheekbone. She looks scared, but not by him. Her blue eyes focus on him, and her breath slows down, eyes filling with the tears that relief brings.

“Viper” she whispers his stage name, and he feels like he’s being sucker-punched.

She’s called his name.

She’s said his stage name, is looking at him, is _seeing_ him. This is not a stage smile, the one she has to fake at work.

This is beautiful Valeryia, calling his name, looking at him and seeing him.

The hand he has used to move her hair sides down and slowly, very much so, caresses her jaw.

“You’re safe, it’s ok” he whispers, not tolerating the idea of talking at a normal level, as if he couldn’t stand a sound that’s not her beautiful voice.

She called his name.

His stage name, but she said his name.

As if she knows him, knows who he is, has actually _seen_ him when he was at the club, barely a couple of meters from her.

He moves closer, one hand sliding under her neck. He brings her close to himself, and she willingly lets him move her. She even sneaks her own arms around his neck, and hides her face in his shoulder. He hugs her close with his other arm, caressing her back for a moment, then slides it under her knees and pushes himself up.

When he’s turned, Bryan looks at him with a very hard glare, eyes shining in understanding, and he silently signals the kids to search the bodies. They find wallets and Ivan takes pictures of all the licenses they find, not really hoping the names are real, but still.

“We can’t take the subway” Mikail murmurs to Bryan, as if he understood that Ian couldn’t take a sound different from the girl’s voice.

Bryan shakes his head, and Ian is faintly reminded of the Falcon of the Abbey, hard glares and silent. He slams his boot on the unconscious man he has slammed in the wall, effectively breaking his nose in a messy pool of blood, not caring if he chokes on it.

“Hey” Piter calls him, launching him a car key from where he’s still hunched on the third unconscious man on the floor: “We can drive their car” he suggests.

Bryan nods, silently complimenting him, and gestures them all to follow him. Before leaving the corner, he casts a glance at Ian, looking at the way he’s holding the girl’s body tightly against his chest.

He doesn’t say anything, but brings Mikail and Ivan with himself and walks close to some cars, pretending to be aimlessly walking with them, while instead is trying to figure out which car belongs to the three unconscious men in the alley.

The finally find the silver Dacia, and Ian can see him and the two kids get in, Bryan at the steering wheel, Mik beside him, and Ivan in the backseat. They calmly drive back to the alley, as if everything was normal, and Piter helps Ian get in without hurting Valeryia. He slides in himself, too, closing the door softly behind him.

When Bryan starts again the car and drives them back to school, Ian realizes Valeryia has closed her eyes and fallen asleep, and caresses her legs. There are goosebumps on her skin, and Piter sheds his coat and covers her legs as best as he can, even if it’s a short drive.

That’s also when Ian realizes two other things.

the first is that she’s incredibly thin, despite having all the right curves in the right places, and the second is that, wearing Allstars, she must be barely ten centimeters taller than him.

He hopes she won’t hate him, when she wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Do I not like how weak I am making my almost only female character to be. Well, I promise improvements will be made.  
> Feedbacks?


	6. The Best Kind of Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian faces the consequences of bringing Valeryia to the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for: Tala's and Spencer's sass.

Now that his mind is cooler, Ian realizes that bringing Valeryia to the school has probably not been his brightest idea. Sure, he wants to help her, he would even if she hadn’t recognized him (it’s still shocking, in a totally elating way, to remember that she has).

The thing is, someone was after her, and, if they know she’s here, he will have exposed all the kids. Though, to be honest, ask him and he‘ll tell she’s worth the risk. But, he’s lucid enough, now, to realize he’s no longer as objective as the situation requires him to be, and he sincerely hopes he hasn’t fucked up.

He paces the corridor right outside the infirmary door. He’s taken her there while Ivan was shouting for Spencer, and he has laid her onto the examination table. He has tried being as careful as he could, but her face has given signs of discomfort at being jostled like that.

Her nose was no longer bleeding and didn’t look broken, but the bruises on her face were starting to swell. He didn’t dare lifting her shirt to check on her ribs, and, as soon as Spencer has entered the room, he’s fled it.

‘I should’ve stayed in there’ he berates himself now, twisting his fingers nervously: ‘I should have stayed, told Spence what happened. I should have stayed and help’

Spencer hasn’t called for him, and hasn’t called for help, in general. This means that Valeryia’s conditions must be easy to assess, the damage not extended, and that someone has already told Spencer whatever there was to tell.

The first thought is a calming one: she’s not in danger, he thinks.

The second, on the other hand, sets out a wave of shame, when he remembers the way he has completely lost it, to run in her defense. Completely forgetting about his charges’ wellbeing. Allowing them to witness, and to actively participate.

If Valeryia’s aggressors remember them, Ian will have exposed his boys to unnecessary, unknown danger.

The first is bad, the second is worse.

He sighs,finally stopping in the middle of the hallway, and covers his eyes with one hand.

“Hey”

He startles.

Silent footsteps that Ian hasn’t heard have brought Tala right there, barely a meter from him. He turns to look at his captain, meeting his bright blue eyes, calm and collected. He doesn’t look mad, Ian notices. He wonders why, since his inconsiderate act has probably brought danger on them all, adding to the one they daily, silently still face from Boris

“The boys have told me what happened. Is she still inside?”

Ian just nods. He realizes he couldn’t really voice an answer, with the vivid memory of Valeryia’s face bruised and tears-stricken.

Tala nods: “They’ve said she was just slightly beaten. Spence hasn’t called for help, has he?”

Ian shakes his head no.

“Well, then I guess she’s ok. Probably a bit bruised, but I’m sure she'll be fine, soon”

Ian stares at the redhead, and nods again. He lowers his gaze to the floor, still silent. He appreciates Tala’s attempt at reassuring him, he really does. That doesn’t mean that it’s doing anything for the burning shame he feels, remembering the way he’s put their charges in danger.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me” he raises his eyes in Tala’s, trying to convey all the regret he feels: “I’ve put the boys in danger, and I shouldn’t have brought her here”

Tala scoffs and smirks slightly, taking one step behind and leaning against he wall.

“Yeah, well, she’s here now. I’m glad you’re back on track and that your brain isn’t filled with that testosterone fog anymore, but..”

Ian blushes, uncomfortable at being in this position for the first time in his life, but he still holds Tala’s gaze. Even if it’s difficult to do so, when the other is smirking like he’s clearly enjoying Ian’s discomfort.

At least he looks sincere.

It’s not something Tala would do, to momentarily lie just to make Ian feel better, so, from what he has just said, he must seriously believe that Valeryia’s presence at the school is something that they can work with.

Tala slides his hands in the front pockets of his washed-out jeans, and Ian follows the movement, deep in thoughts. He stares at the floor, then moves again to Tala’s bright eyes, silent, thinking.

How can Tala takes this so well? How can he be this calm, when Ian himself is panicking, wondering if he’s endangered them all? Tala isn’t really famous for calm and patience, and this reaction is really unexpected.

Ian appreciates it, but, still. It’s weird, not hearing Tala’s furious tirade, when Ian has basically offered him the most perfect circumstance to do so.

He bites his tongue, but gives up to curiosity all too soon.

“Why are you taking this so well?”

Tala shrugs, and shakes his head aside slightly, to push the red ponytail off his shoulder: “What do you want me to do? I can hardly get mad at you for bringing here a girl. It’s not like I haven’t done it a dozens time, before”

“Thousands, more likely” Ian mutters, putting all the efforts he can muster to pull his mouth in a small smirk.

Tala just rolls his eyes: “Whatever. Anyway, even if it’s the first time the girl in question has been beaten up, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last, I’m sure. I still hold hope for Spencer to find someone, and, let's get real. We have a house full of boys. They’re bound to bring girls home, at some point” he argues in his most reasonable voice.

Then he grins with that feral expression that makes him look so much like a real wolf, and Ian nows he has to expect the worst.

“Though, to be honest, I’d never expected you to make a move on your secret girlfriend so soon”

“She’s hardly my girlfriend. I’ve never even talked to her, and I definitely was not making a move! She was being beaten up and almost got kidnapped. That can’t count as making a move!”

Ian fights back the blushing at the implication of her being, under any circumstances, ‘his’, and tries not to shudder at the terrible memory of her cries.

“Sure it does” Tala drawls, rolling his eyes and smirking like the devil he obviously must be related to: “You’ve brought her here, not to the hospital, haven’t you?” he points out, again with that reasonable voice.

“Whatever. I’m not making a move” Ian stresses, hoping he’s not pouting.

He realizes he probably is.

Tala scoffs and bends closer, shoulders slightly hunching forwards: “Ian, if you won’t, I swear to god, I’ll make it. Because, with a girl like that, you can’t seriously let the chance go. And it’s not like Bryan would mind a threesome with a girl like her”

Ian’s stare incinerates the redhead instantly. He clenches his jaw so much that he wouldn’t be surprised to hear his own teeth break or pop out.

Tala is obviously half expecting a punch, judging from the way his shoulders tense, even if he doesn’t slide his hands out from his pockets. The captain knows Ian, and he knows that, if he showed any traces of preparing for physical confrontation, he’d activate Ian’s fighting mode, and he definitely doesn’t want to trigger that.

“Don’t you dare” Ian seethes, looking murderous.

But then, a thought strikes him, effectively deflating all the anger in him. His shoulders hunches slightly, and the territorial anger in his eyes is replaced by sad bitterness.

What is he doing? Why is he behaving like she’s his? She’s said his name, his stage name, but that’s all. The fact that she has recognized him doesn't mean anything, she doesn’t belong to him, hasn’t expressed any sign of wanting to have anything to do with him.

Also, the more he looks at Tala’s bright eyes, the more Ian realizes something else, an important dogma that he must have forgotten for the past minute, lost in the testosterone-induced fog, to quote his captain’s previous words.

Statistically, beautiful people belong together.

There’s no way Valeryia would ever be interested in him. And that’s unrelated to Tala and, or, Bryan trying to hit on her, while she’s here.

They wouldn’t really approach her, out on the respect they feel for Ian. He knows that, he can count on it, but this doesn’t mean that the thousands and thousands of other handsome men in the rest of the country will abstain from asking Valeryia out, either.

Even if his two friends won’t make a move, she still can choose between who knows how many suitors..

“Hey”

Tala pushes himself off the wall, frowning and resting one hand on Ian’s shoulder. He looks careful and worried, the way he’s learned to let himself show since leaving the Abbey.

“What’s gotten into you, now?”

Ian doesn’t answer, just goes back to staring at the floor.

“Come on, Ian” Tala shakes him slightly: “we were going in the right direction until a minute ago. You were all medievally possessive and territorial, like any man with a working dick would rightfully do.. and now you're moping worse than Bryan, when we told him he couldn’t ride his stupid bike with a broken leg!”

Ian almost smiles at the memory. Tala notices and shakes him again, his lips spreading in a grin: “Come on, what’s up now?” he asks again.

Never say Tala isn’t persistent, when it comes to assess the wellbeing of the people he cares for. It must be the positive counterpart of being annoying and harassing, too..

Ian shakes his head and tries to shrug Tala’s hand off, but the redhead doesn’t budge. He ends up with Tala’s fingers, long and elegant but way stronger than they look, closed around his wrist, and his eyes are staring pointedly into Ian's.

“So?” he insists.

Ian rolls his eyes: “So there’s no point in making a move on her, because I can’t. That’s all”

Tala frowns and makes an expression of disbelief: “What? Why not?”

“She doesn’t even know who I am” Ian reasonably points out.

He really wishes he doesn't have to get to the ‘I look like a dwarf and I’m not good looking enough’ part with Tala, of all people.

“But she called you by your stage name” the redhead rebuts: “which leads me to ask, have you ever even introduced yourself to her, by your real one?” Tala’s reasonable voice is now blending in with his ‘trust me, I’m an expert’ one, which Ian finds usually either annoying or just funny, but, at the present time, he’s more for the first.

He rolls his eyes: “No.”

“No?” Tala echoes, lifting a perfect reddish eyebrow.

“No. I don’t think anyone but the owner knows my real name, at the club” Ian confesses.

Tala looks dumbfounded: “You are not serious, are you?”

“Look, Tal, I don’t go there to make friends. I go to have the chance to make music, and to see if people like what I do. Which they do, and that’s all that matters to me. I don't talk to the guys, I don’t talk to the girls. And I especially don’t talk to girls that look like Valeryia” he rants.

“Why not?” Tala looks sincerely lost, and Ian sighs.

His friend means well, but he’s being a real pain, forcing Ian to think, and worse to voice out, things he’d rather not being reminded of.

“I’m not you, Tala. Or Bryan. Or hell, even Spencer” he tiredly argues.

He’s the youngest member of the Demolition Boys, barely a month younger than Tala, but the tired look in his eyes ages him immensely.

“I know I wouldn’t stand a chance, with a girl like her”

Tala is rarely left speechless. Usually, bringing the loud redhead to such state is something that fills Ian with satisfaction. This time, though, he really can’t say he’s enjoying it. Especially because Tala’s silence isn’t due to a lack of things to say, but, as the twirling in his eyes shows, because he has too many.

The silence is uneasy on Ian’s side, too. He feels exposed, and, even if Tala is a very good friend, confessing this aloud makes Ian feel pathetic,weak, and stupid.

He really didn’t want Tala, of all people, to be the first person he’d ever admit this to. First, because Tala can’t have ever felt this way. And second, because Ian knows that Tala is definitely going to take Ian’s anguish as a personal failure, for not realizing it sooner.

And, damn, Ian doesn’t want him to know that he could face the Abbey, but he can’t cope with something this.. trivial.

The door opens ajar, slightly startling them both.

Their eyes fly to where Spencer’s big hand has appeared to the side of the wooden panel, clutching it between fingers and palm. Their friend is turned behind, clearly talking to Valeryia.

“Wait there, ok? Don’t move. At all”

He closes the door behind himself, and turns to the two boys in the corridor.

Ian immediately shuts his mouth, unable to inquire about the girl’s conditions. Tala notices, and raises the question himself. The tallest member of their team sighs slightly, which is never a good omen.

“She’s taken worse” he says.

The single utterance strikes Ian, who fails to hide his emotions at that.

‘She’s seen worse’ means that this isn’t the first time that she has been hit, and, who has been there for her, those other times? What has been done to her? How bad has this ‘worse’ gone?

Was it the people who sent the three men after her? Why? How often has that happened, and how deep in trouble is she? And how much will this endanger the kids?

Ian swallows uneasily.

“So, she’s fine now?” Tala asks, focusing on the present.

“Yes” Spencer nods: “her face is bruised, but nothing is broken. She has taken some nasty blows to her ribs, but she’s fine there, too”

Ian exhales loudly, and visibly sags.

Spencer fixes him with an expressionless look: “She's asked about you. I’ve explained her that it’s better if she doesn’t move from the table for a while, until the painkiller kicks in. Then we can think about putting her on something more comfortable. Clearly, even so, don’t make her move”

Ian almost blushes at the pointed look.

“We’ll need a place to let her sleep. She definitely can’t sleep on the infirmary table” Tala agrees.

“We can’t put her on a couch without telling the children about her, either. Especially because, after dinner, they will definitely want to go to the lounge room. We can’t have her sleep there” Spencer argues.

Tala smirks at Ian: “I’m guessing your room is off limits, too?”

Ian refuses to take on the innuendo: “Well, she could sleep in my room, and I can take one of the couches” he suggests, all practical and focused on avoiding any mental image of Valeryia sleeping in his bed.

‘Body, please, don’t betray me now’

“Or, we can ask Babygirl if we can bunk our guest in with her” Tala suggests, offering Ian an alternative: “considering that it might be better if the girl doesn’t spend the night alone, in a place she doesn’t know”

Ian thinks it's a good idea. “And with people she doesn’t know, either” he adds.

Spencer clears his throat and smirks at Tala, quickly going back to stare into Ian’s eyes with his more usual expressionless look: “Yeah, well, about that.. she seems to know a bit about you. She might rather want to.. stay close to you, since she knows you, and since you’ve basically saved her”

Tala masks the laughing fit with a fake cough, but he’s obviously smiling like the cat, or better the wolf, that’s finally gotten the prey.

Ian doesn’t know, but he’s visibly paling.

He could barely cope with the thought of Valeryia in his bed, sleeping peacefully, alone, without him in the same room. How is he ever supposed to react to he perspective of sharing his own room with her?

‘I guess I can sleep on the floor..’ he tries to reason, but then he remembers her beautiful body, barely covered by those skimpy outfits..

‘Oh god, please, no, no, body, please, don’t get hard now. Please don’t get hard now. Not in front of Tala and Spence. Please’

“I think...” he tries, but his voice is trembling.

He mentally kicks himself for letting that show, and tries again, with more composure: “I think you should tell Em and ask if she’s ok with letting her stay in her room. It’s probably going to be the best solution”

Tala smirks: “Sure, Ian, whatever you want”

Spencer shakes his head, looking somewhat between worried and amused: “Really, Ian, and I’m supposed to believe you’re not gay? A girl like that, and you don’t want her in your bed?”

Ok, Tala’s sexual innuendos, Ian can take, but Spencer’s?!

Ian furiously blushes, while Tala bursts out laughing, and then covers his mouth to not disturb the resting girl behind the door. His shaking shoulders are incredibly annoying for poor Ian.

“She’s just been attacked, you idiot! And, and, and, I’m not like that, ok?”

“Then, how are you like?” Tala asks, between mirth and seriousness.

“I’m definitely not going to take advantage of the situation like that. It’d be creepy” Ian honestly answers.

He moves closer to the door, eager to slip away from the uncomfortable topic, but also not really willing to confront the girl of his dreams, face to face, and alone.

“What are you waiting for?” Spencer smirks again, and Tala is again dying with silent laughter.

Ian’s jaw opens and closes a couple of time, before he angrily shows them the finger and quickly, and silently, enters the room.

The moment the door shuts, he can’t hear a thing from outside anymore, and he thanks whoever among the four of them decided to acoustically isolate the infirmary room.

He’s immediately pinned by Valeryia’s blue eyes. The girl is lying on the examination table, and tries to prop herself on an elbow as soon as she recognizes him.

“Viper..” she murmurs, and, really, Ian feels like when Bryan sucker-punches him, no air left in his lungs.

Then he sees her wince and rushes to he side.

“Hey, no, no, you have to stay put for a while” he tells her, managing to push her down again.

His hands on her clothed shoulders tingle. He lets go of her, and she looks at him with a small smile, with the most adorable expression Ian has ever seen.

“Sorry to bother you” she whispers, and Ian can’t help asking himself if she’s using this low voice because it hurts to talk, or because she’s shy.

She has the body of a goddess. She pole-dances in bikinis for a job. How can she be shy, now?

“You aren’t” he reassures her, smiling with what he hopes isn't his most dumb expression.

She moves her hand around and finds his, clutching and intertwining his fingers with hers. In Allstar, knee high socks, jeans shorts and a turtleneck jumper, she looks beautiful, adorable, perfect. Even more than when she’s wearing the club’s outfits. Her warm smile and the gratitude in her eyes are pretty much all it takes for Ian to literally melt on the spot.

“I thought it was a dream, you saving me. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed that” she confesses in a whisper.

She blushes and raises the neck of the jumper to cover her face: “God, I must look so stupid right now” she murmurs in a low, embarrassed chuckle.

“You couldn’t be more perfect”

It takes exactly three seconds for Ian to realize that he’s said that aloud.

Before he could blush, though, his brain registers a very important detail, such as the way she is blushing at his praise. Which triggers another realization: she has just said that _she dreams about him_.

With his free hand, unseen from the girl on the bed, he pinches himself hard on his tight, a couple of times. The pain is real, he is awake. He pinches harder, just to be sure. Same result: he really is awake.

The fact that she’s still blushing also proves that she isn’t lying, or she wouldn’t have any reason to blush at his compliment.

He’s still too shocked to put two and two together, though, and can’t really work out that she dreams about him.

She lowers the hem of the jumper and smiles: “What’s your name?”

“Ian”

She raises their hands to her cheek and cradles the back of his against her face: “You definitely look like an Ian”

He smirks, without knowing how can his face make that expression in her presence: “I do?”

She nods: “You look like him, you know? The Ian from the Demolition Boys. I’ve always had a huge crush on him” she chuckles, her eyes shining dreamily.

‘Too dreamily’, he realizes in alarm, and then everything falls into place, and he understands what's happened.

Spencer said he has given her pain killers. The thing is, because the Demolition Boys’ bodies have been tampered and upgraded and messed with by Boris and his goons at the Abbey, whenever they need painkillers, they need thrice the dose a normal human being would require.

The kids, having been accustomed to the Abbey’s heavy dosage on drugs too, also need stronger doses, in order to feel any relief.

Clearly, Valeryia belongs to the number of people who could have done without the elephant dose.

Ian seethes at Spencer in his mind, and thanks his luck that the girl isn’t reacting too bad to the drugs, beside being obviously a bit high.

Not that Spencer really is to be blamed: anybody would have made that same mistake, and it wouldn't be a surprise if it turned out that Spencer had already halved the dosage for her, in the first place.

Then, his brain processes another thing.

The hand that she is not clutching and cradling to her face is slightly trembling, and he is struggling to push his jaw to work out the words.

“What.. What did you just say?”

Valeryia chuckles, like a little girl caught saying something naughty: “That you look like Ian Papov. You know, from the Demolition Boys. I know you’re all into music, but, come on, beyblade is famous, surely you know who they are”

‘oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh god’

“Yeah.. What about him?”

“You look like him”

“Really” he drawls, instinctively smirking.

She nods with an expression suddenly so serious, that he really can’t help the fond smile that worms up his face.

“I’ve always had a huge crush on him” she repeats, closing eyes and caressing his wrist with her fingers.

‘What?!!’

He tries to look cool and composed. As much as the situation allows him to be, at least.

She’s high on medication, and she has no idea what’s she’s saying, but she isn’t lying. Ian does feel like a sneaky little shit for pushing his luck, and carving out of her precious info like that, but..

“Really?” he asks, feigning scarce interest: “I thought people usually go for Tala, or Bryan”

She smirks: “They look hot, sure, but, naaaa. Ian was my favorite. Still is. I was so disappointed when Hiwatari took his place” she sighs, then chuckles: “Well, now he has to fight for the first place with you. Two Ians, and I’m a big fan of both”

‘God, kill me now’

“Isn’t he a bit too short?” He knows he’s definitely pushing his luck.

She shrugs: “What can I say, I like men that aren’t towering over me. And he has the most beautiful set of eyes...”

She frowns, lifting her other hand to his cheek. He holds his breath, feeling her hand caressing his face, and wonders if he’s really screwed up and pushed his luck too much.

“Kind of like yours..” she whispers. He holds her dreamy stare, silent.

“Wouldn’t it be magical if you and him were the same person? You could both be my favorite, and I wouldn’t have to decide which I like more..”

She chuckles again: “Then again, he looked hot as a sport man, but you’re a musician. That’s always hotter”

He has to stop her. He has to stop her now.

She’s starting to reveal things that he definitely isn’t supposed to know, and she’ll probably hate him for taking advantage of the situation, instead of stopping her. He should protect her privacy, and, adding to that, he should stop her also for himself, for his own sanity, because he needs time to digest all those new info. He needs time to cope with their real meaning.

“Valeryia.. You don’t know what you’re saying” he tries, but she interrupts, her face closing in a childish, angry pout: “Of course I do!”

“Yeah, no, I meant” Ian smiles, can’t help it: “you might not want to tell me what you are. You have been given painkillers, and, you see, they are making you talk, ok? The effect will probably fade as soon as you fall asleep” he explains.

She blushes suddenly, which is a sign that she isn’t that much out of it.

“Oh”

“Yeah. Look, You need to sleep and rest. I can take you to my room, if you want, and I’ll sleep on the couch, downstairs. Or, I can take you to our only girl’s room. She’ll like you, I’m sure, and, she has a spare bed in her room. She won’t mind you sleeping there”

She lifts a finger in the air, serious expression. Very, very serious.

“Are you that Ian?” she asks with purpose, almost interrupting him.

Ian bats his lashes a couple of times, lost at the odd question: “What?”

“Are you Viper-Ian, and at the same time Wyborg-Ian?” she asks again, somewhat more clearly.

“Y-yes, but, why?”

She smiles: “Then I obviously don’t want to sleep in this girl’s room”

‘….what?!’

“Y-You want to sleep in my room..?”

“Obviously” she nods, beaming. Then she adds: “With you, clearly”

Ian’s jaw goes slack.

His heart, he is sure, has stopped beating.

Valeryia’s happy expression falters at his reaction: “Unless it’s a bother for you..?”

“Oh, no, no no no “he hurriedly answers, shaking his head with intention: “Don’t worry. No bother. Not at all”

Valeryia.

In his bed.

With him.

‘Oh my god, please, kill me now’


	7. Spencer's kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer being awesome with children.

Spencer pretends to be too engrossed in stirring at he pot where their dinner is finishing cooking, to pay attention to the kids lingering on the benches and chairs in the kitchen. They have already laid out the table in the dining room, after all, so there’s little that he’s entitled to complain about. Plus, he likes to be silently there, a presence almost forgotten, so that the kids start talking without filters.

They are going to dine in the dining room, since the kitchen is too small to contain twenty cheering and eating people. The only ones usually having breakfast in there are the Demolition Boys themselves, like Ian, when he comes home from a night at the club, or Tala, when he’s back from some morning errand that he’s left for, during the usual breakfast time for the kids.

Still, some of the kids, especially his charges, like to linger in the kitchen, around Spencer, before lunches and dinners are served. With the excuse of sticking around so that they can help if Spencer ask for something, they can enjoy his presence, and, if in moments like this they talk between each others and end up letting Spencer know about stuff that’s really difficult to breach personally, well.

Spencer smirks inside his head: kids, these days.

He is in charge of the thirteen years old, the difficult, transitive age between their oldest boys, who are Ian’s responsibility, and the younger, divided between Tala and Bryan. Spencer is the most patient member of the team, and he has gladly accepted the thorny duty of having to deal with their three thirteen years old.

Ivan, or Vanya, as they call him to distinguish him from the sixteen years old Ivan, is sitting in one of the few chairs, and he keeps rocking himself on its legs. Spencer doesn’t tell him to stop, because he’s the one who started talking on the current topic, and the Seaborg master is much more interested in hearing the development of this talk, than afraid the boy is going to trip and hurt himself.

Plus, Vanya is pretty much like the older Ivan, both troublemakers and adrenaline junkie, coupled with incredible balancing skills. The risk that he’d trip off that chair are very small, so much that Spencer can procrastinate on telling him to stop.

Vanya is twirling one of his long brownish locks around a finger. His hair is loose on his shoulders, and by now it reaches easily half his back. Spencer doesn’t approve of it, but he doesn’t want to clip the kid’s young wings, so he pretends he doesn’t mind about it. As long as the boy keeps it clean, that is.

Plus, Vanya usually keeps it tied in a high ponytail, whenever he is in class or doing any sports, which is basically how he spends the majority of his time. Spencer can hardly complain, if the kid lets it loose once in a while.

He’s teaching Pushkin to them, in these days. He can hardly admit it to Tala, but the man is by far one of his favorite from Russian Literature. Tala, who loves Russian literature but only from a prose-written perspective, would never understand poetry, and why Pushkin is so dear to Spencer. But the kids, despite their age, they seem to appreciate his poems, and nothing could warm Spencer’s heart more.

Or, well, there’s actually a lot of things that could, but, this is still in the top ten, at least.

Vanya has started talking about Pushkin’s most famous poem, the love poem dedicated to his first wife. Spencer is all ears listening how the boy is talking about the poet’s life mirrored in each stanza. He obviously has read the pages that Spencer has assigned to them, as well as th notes that he has written down during class.

The thing is: Spencer appreciates it, but he knows there must be a purpose behind this. Vanya wouldn’t bring up poetry as a subject in front of other kids, if he hadn’t another reason to. It’s also true that he’s talking to the two others thirteen years old in the room, Sergey and Dmitri: he must consider them a safe audience, since they are the bookworms of the family.

‘Where are you trying to go?’ Spencer asks himself.

He stops stirring and grabs a spoon. He tastes the food and decides it needs a bit more salt. He adds it, and goes back to stirring, all feeling his charges’ eyes burning on his back.

“I mean” Vanya finally tries to conclude: “I get it. Love is cool, and it’s nice when it follows you through your life, and you don’t stop feeling it, but.. I still think that sometime it’s better if you don’t just.. you know, admit it”

“Vanya, don’t forget that Pushkin is the one who made Eugene Onegin say, ‘The less we love her when we woo her, the more we draw a woman in’” Sergey replies.

“Yes, and you know the opinion Pushkin had on Onegin” Dmitri continues: “Don’t you think that, maybe, he would have judged your opinion just as immature?”

Spencer chuckles.

Sergey, always the little scholar, is probably the only thirteen years old boy Spencer has ever met that has no problem, and feels no shame, talking about love and defending it. Hell, even among the older kids, it’s more likely that boys either think little of it, or pretend to despise it, trying to belittle it, even if they’re anxiously waiting to find out what love is like. But Sergey, no, he’s the only one who’ll openly argue against them, defending love, sounding like a poet himself. Spencer can’t hide that he has very high expectations for him.

Dmitri, on the other side, is more likely to end up as an historian, always objective, and preferring war-talks than love-talks.

Sergey chiding Vanya for immaturity isn’t really an infrequent occurrence, but Spencer appreciates that, when he does, he’s always calm about it. His placid character is another trait of his that Spencer likes, and he admires the boy for it.

Dmitri, a bit more passionate about defending his opinions, always try to aim for the same tranquility in speech, but he always ends up on a more aggressive tone.

Spencer hears Vanya’s clothes rustling, and can picture him shrugging. “Maybe, but I still think it”

“You’re entitled to have your own opinion, Vanya” Spencer’s deep voice rumbles, without turning to look at them. He doesn’t need to, and, if he did, his words would hit the boy more deeply than he actually intends to, so he keeps stirring and checking the soup.

“But, as you’ve been pointed out, your opinion on love might be a bit immature. You’re thirteen years old, after all”

“So am I” Sergey replies, voice controlled, but clearly irritated at the remark.

Dmitri gently pushes his best friend: “Yeah, but you don’t count like one. You’re all ‘let’s love love’, like a fifty years old man”

“Or a poet” Vanya adds, smirking.

Sergey lifts his chin, half in mockery and half in a real challenge: “Maybe that’s what I want to be”

Dmitri rolls his eyes, and he and Vanya share a look, both turning to stare pleadingly at Spencer. He’s looking at the exchange over a shoulder, and, when he meets their eyes, he just smiles and shrugs: “If that’s what he wants, I really don’t see why not”

Vanya shudders: “I couldn’t imagine a worse fate” he mutters, eloquent words to mock his friend.

Dmitri nods in agreement: “Same”

“Boys...” Spencer drawls, but doesn’t go on,waiting for Sergey to defend himself.

They’re young. They don’t know what’s love like. He knows this is the way things are supposed to be, and, especially after the Abbey, he’s fine with it. This behavior is still predictable in teens and preteens, and, well, he himself used to believe the ‘feelings are weaknesses’ gospel that every kid at the Abbey has been fed for years.

Just like Tala, Bryan and Ian, he has only recently stopped, and he’s still learning to let himself show his feelings. Being around his kids helps, but it’s only after the first time they’ve faced the Blade Breakers that the four Demolition Boys have questioned Boris’ teachings.

He’s not worried that his boys don’t think highly of love: he’s content enough with them not being ashamed at showing affection and being physical with each others. Love is complex, love is difficult. You can’t defend love before you experience it.

He can’t help being reminded of Ian, a floor upstairs from them, in his room with a beautiful girl that Spencer is definitely going to ask everything about.

‘Ian uses to talk shit about love, too’ he remembers with a devious smirk that slips out.

“I don’t see why you all, but Spencer and Malyshka, have to spit on love. I mean, you don’t even know what it feels like!” Sergey goes on protesting, and Spencer turns slightly, to check on them also visually. He lowers the power of the stove, just in case.

Vanya frowns: “Maybe I don’t want to feel it. Maybe I don’t like the idea of feeling it”

Sergey hunches forward from his seat on the bench: “You know who you sound like? Boris, when he used to say that feelings are weaknesses” he accuses the other boy.

Vanya doesn’t relent: “Well, maybe I sound like him, but that’s what I think! Feelings are good, but I don’t think love is!” he angrily argues.

“Why are you so scared of something that you’ve no idea how it feels?” Sergey asks in a angry voice that doesn’t feel like a question, but ore like an accusation.

“How can you be so sure that it’s something worth to defend?” Dmitri pipes in, his voice slightly less angry than his friend’s, which only makes Sergey’s angry reaction stand out even more. This is very unusual from them, Spencer notes, and suddenly realizes something big is going on.

“I don’t, but I know! How many people have written good things about it?”

“And how many have done the opposite?” Vanya bites back.

“You can’t expect it to hurt either, if you don’t even try to talk with Em in the first place!” Sergey angrily almost shouts.

Silence.

Dmitry casts a dumbfounded look at Sergey, looking surprised not as much at the revelation, but at the way his best friend has completely lost it and outed Vanya in front of Spencer.

Vanya himself looks petrified, thorn between anger at being outed and embarrassment at being outed right in front of Spencer, who’s more a father than an older brother,for the three of them.

Sergey, on the other hand, blushes, clearly not proud with himself for betraying his friend’s trust, but also very much not backing off from his position.

Spencer nods and sighs: “I knew we were coming to this” he mutters, and six eyes, two dark and one light blue, set on him.

He chuckles and switches off the stove, reaching for a chair and dragging it so that he can sit in front of the kids, looking straight in their eyes. He reverses the chair and straddles it, much like he always does when he’s giving _the_ talk, or _a_ talk.

“First of all, I want you to relax. Breath, Seryozha”

Sergey relaxed at hearing the diminutive, took a few deep breaths and straightened his back.

“Now, Vanya” Spencer turned to the red-faced teen on his left and fixed him with a calm, reassuring stare: “It’s a house full of boys. We knew this was going to happen, the very day that we brought Babygirl in. So, relax. It’s not like you’ve done anything unexpected”

Vanya blushes harder, but all in embarrassment now. He casts his eyes on the floor and clenches his jaw, waiting for Spencer to go on.

The tallest, oldest member of the Demolition Boys and of their entire family silently draws a breath.

“Now that we’re all more calm, how about starting from the start?” he prods at Vanya, but the kid is still looking at the tips of his shoes.

“Vanya” he calls, trying to gently have him snap out of it.

Vanya mutters something under his breath, and Spencer is once again reminded of how much his charges, despite being officially teen agers, are still kids, children.

You have to be gentle, to allow them some space to develop, to grow into what they’re going to become, but you still need to be extra careful, never let them go completely without guidance, always being on watch.

He doesn’t doubt that this isn’t any easier for Tala, with the youngest kids, for Bryan, with the children in between Tala’s and Spencer’s charges, or for Ian, with the older kids. And he knows that with the fourteen years old kids that he and Ian share responsibility of it isn’t any easier, too.

But, times like this makes Spencer realizes how careful, how gentle, how patient you have to be with their kids. They’re children, but that’s not all of it: they’re scarred children, who once live in fear and now are dealing with a scary past, some completely ignoring it and some others painfully coming to terms with it. They’re abused and traumatized, and you can’t force things out of them, never, not even in cases like this.

And, even if it’s difficult, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He would never trade them for anybody else, in the entire world.

“I don’t want to be in love”

Vanya’s words are so soft that they’re barely above a whisper and Spencer is lucky he has a damn good hearing.

He stands up, reaches for Vanya, and kneels right in front of the kid, taking his hands into his much bigger own.

“Why not?” he asks, keeping his voice as low as the kid’s.

“Because it hurts”

‘Oh boy, if you start with this at thirteen...’

He refrains from rolling his eyes, and reminds himself to be patient. He shouldn’t be surprised at how patient he managed to be with Bryan and Tala, before they got together: his kids are the best teachers he would ever need.

“Why?

Vanya’s cheek is stained by a single silent tear that rolls down close to his mouth and diverts to his jaw. Spencer slowly raises a hand and wipes it, cupping the boy’s chin and lifting his face. He usually wouldn’t, letting the boy take his time before making eye contact, but he wants Vanya to feel safe, and that means not letting him completely time to adjust.

“Vanya, why?” he repeats in a murmur.

Vanya closes his eyes and more tears come out, but he bravely reopens his eye and sets them in Spencer’s ignoring the tears that are staining his cheeks and clouding his visual.

“Lukas is in love with her” he mouths, air barely leaving his lips when he says it, not even loud enough to be a murmur.

Spencer knows this.

Lukas is one of the fourteen years old that he and Ian take care of. He is a good looking, smart kid, who is starting to show the arrogance of a teen ager that knows he has the brain and the looks. Still, he has a good heart, and the friendship ties that he has made with the other kids, especially those around his age, are solid.

The thing is, Spencer can see how Lukas is basically an insurmountable obstacle to get to Babygirl. Even if the girl doesn’t like the arrogant stunts and his smug attitude, Lukas is a good looking boy who adores her and always tries to cherish her. His chivalrous acts look silly most of the time, but they don’t entirely fall on deaf ears, since Babygirl, despite he words, obviously enjoys his attention.

Unfortunately, Lukas is also a loyal friend, enough to give up on Babygirl, if he knew that Vanya, here, has a crush on her, too.

And Spencer loves his charges, but can be objective enough to know that Vanya’s chances with Malyshka aren’t as high as Lukas’. Vanya is a cute boy, but Lukas promises to become a real beauty, in a very masculine sense. They’re both very sportive, but Lukas also has a brain that Vanya doesn’t even dream to challenge. Lukas is already planning to apply for a college, and only has to decide between chemistry and physics. Vanya, on the other hand, only likes sports, and bey blading.

The five years that Vanya has spent in the Abbey have thought him that friendship is the most precious thing in the world, and that you don’t give up on something nice you know, for something that you don’t know, which might be better, but can also be worse.

He would never jeopardize his friendship with Lukas.

They are so close that they’ve even formed a small band, with Vanya playing the drums, and Lukas playing the guitar and singing.

Spencer looks deeply into Vanya’s eyes, and thinks.

“You care for Lukas’ friendship, don’t you?” he murmurs.

Vanya only nods, tears slowly stopping. Spencer uses the hem of his sleeve to wipe their tracks from the kid’s cheeks.

“You’re a very good friend, Vanya. You really are”

Vanya’s shoulders shake, and his eyes water again.

“But”

Vanya’s brown eyes desperately hold in Spencer’s.

“You won’t let that friendship take away your chances” he murmurs, his voice a whispered command that hits the boy’s core.

Vanya opens his mouth slightly, trying to say something but not really managing, and Spencer goes on.

“Your friendship with Lukas is deep. You will never lose him, just because of a fight over Malyshka’s attentions. Plus, how do you know she will end up choosing him, anyway? It might be Lukas, or you, or anybody else in this house. Well, maybe not me or the other guys, she’s a bit too young for us”

Sergey and Dmitri chuckles slightly, behind him, and he smiles warmly at Vanya. The boy smiles as well, looking less sad but still far from happy.

“If you feel something for her, you have to be brave, and act on it” he argues.

“But...” Vanya whispers, swallowing: “what if Lukas doesn’t like it?”

“Of course he won’t like it! But it’s Lukas, he’s still going to talk to you, and play music and football with you” Spencer reasonably argues, ruffle Vanya’s hair on top of his head.

Vanya makes a strangled chuckling noise: “Sergey said the same thing”

Spencer turns and flashes a smile to Sergey, who nods proudly and then suddenly addresses Vanya with an apologizing look: “I’m sorry I’ve said that in front of other people”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped him” Dmitri joins, waring the very same expression.

Vanya shrugs and smiles at Dmitri: “You couldn’t have stopped anyway. He wanted me to tell Spence so badly, apparently he had to rat me out”

“I really am sorry” Sergey insists.

“I know. And in the end it’s a good thing you did” Vanya says, wiping away the tears from his face with his own sleeve: “but if you do it again, I’ll hit you”

Sergey rolls his eyes, muttering something about barbarian methods and violence.

Spencer chuckles and stands up again, going back at the stoves and finishing cooking.

“Go wash you face, Vanya” he suggests: “and, you guys go call people for dinner. It’s ready”

“But I don’t want soup again” Dmitri complains.

Spencer scowls at him: “You’ll eat the soup just like the rest of us, your majesty, and you’ll thank the cook”

Vanya stands up, and the three boys head side by side for the door. Sergey is walking at Vanya’s right, Dmitri at is left, as if they want to shield their friend from the possible stares he might get on he way for the bathroom.

Spencer thinks it’s cute.

“You just want to be thanked for!” Vanya yells, leaving the kitchen with the other two, all laughing.

“Obviously!” Spencer yells back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, this is like a digression. As much as I love Ian, I adore stories with multiple point of views, and this is a story about the whole DB family, not only Ian getting Valeryia sooo.. Here you go.


	8. Deep in thoughts (how bad is it?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian ponders on what he's done.  
> Bryan tries to go back to humanity, and is reminded of past ghosts.  
> Spencer, Tala and the kids are being adorable. Brattly so.

Every once in a while, Ian finds himself pondering upon life’s unpredictability.

In these moments, he realizes how everything is incredibly random, casual, totally unexpected. The dots are so far and scattered, distant from each others, that it’s impossible to connect them and draw a conclusion.

Take his current predicament, for instance: are there possible explanations, were there any past events that might have hinted to the possibility of this future? Totally not. Absolutely, not at all.

And yet, here he is. In his room, on a Friday night. On a cold, dark, still early Friday night. His room is so silent, he can hear the kids and his teammates a floor under this. Yes, the room is so silent, and dark, and he lies on his bed.

With Valeryia.

He’s still shocked by the last detail. He was not expecting it, and the randomness of the occurrence hits him and shakes him to his core. He could have never, ever, ever have planned anything remotely close to this. It just.. happened.

The girl is asleep. She fell asleep before he even reached his bedroom’s door, in his arms, when he was still carrying her upstairs (admittedly, not taking the elevator for such a purpose has been quite stupid, and also might have sounded like he was trying to impress her.. whatever). A part of him is still surprised, and pleasantly so, with himself, for his ability to actually lift her, carry her, even care for her, jostling her body without making her feel any pain, or worse smacking her head or feet against the walls.

She’s sleeping over bis bed covers, a blanket thrown over her body. She keeps as close as humanly possible to Ian’s side, her head on his chest, his hand buried in her long, wavy golden strands. He lies on his back, one hand on her head and the other on his own chest.

He stares at the ceiling and tries to understand how has this been possible.

He’s in love with a beautiful girl, and that already requires a certain level of stupidity from his side.

She is older, taller and looks like a real goddess. She’s also close enough for him to realize that she even has an amazing smell, too. He has downright adored her, since the first time he has laid eyes upon her. Since the very first moment he has, totally randomly, seen her on the stage. He has applied to the dj position in the same club she worked at, after all. He has basically molded his own working schedule after hers.

It’s pathetic, he’s very aware of that, but he has also always been sure that this one-sided, foolish attraction of his, of one like him to one like her, well, it would obviously never come out. He felt pathetic, but the embarrassment of awareness was softened by the certainty that his feelings would have never seen the light of day.

And yet, here he is. She knows. She knows that he’s been adoring her since day one.

Well, technically she doesn’t really know yet, but, she’s not stupid, she will soon figure out. The unbelievable thing is, that she fancies him, too. Not only she actually knows that he exists, or his name (well, stage name, but, whatever. How could anyone hold against her not knowing his real name? Nobody at the club does). She also likes him, as in, she thinks he’s attractive.

The thought is still as striking as a thunder or a lighting would be. He just can’t believe it: his goddess, his divine inspired personal muse, she likes him, and she knows about him. She knows he was a blader. She liked him as a blader, too. Well, to be honest, she didn’t put together the fact that blader-Ian and dj-Ian were the same person, but, well. He looked a bit different, back then. Sickly so, he adds, and he’s wondering how the hell could she think of him as physically attractive, considering that, back then, he was much paler, much smaller and looked terribly more like a dwarf who would not survive the end of the month.

And yet, she was a fan of him. Not only of the team, but specifically his.

‘Seriously, how in hell has this come to be my life…?’ he wonders, staring at the ceiling.

He slowly runs his fingers through Valeryia’s blond hair, gently stroking it, combing it without real need. He likes petting her, and, judging from the fact that she’s fallen asleep with him doing so, she probably like to be petted, too. In general, or by him, that’s too early to know. He turns his face to hers, trying to see even if the position doesn’t allow to see much more than her forehead and nose. He still can’t believe that she likes him.

‘She looks so beautiful...’ he thinks, admiring her beauty and basking in the feeling of her body so close to his.

‘She looks so perfect...’

A frown creeps on his forehead. He knows that, by adoring her, he’s putting her in a spot that she doesn’t belong to, and might not even like.

He’s putting her on a pedestal like she was a myth, an angel, a real divinity, and that’s something that women do not appreciate. Especially, women with a troubled life like the one Valeryia has led, so far.

She has flaws, just like any other humans, and she’s probably all the more perfect just for those flaws. She looks so real, and he realizes he loves this new version of her, even more than the idolized angel he used to think she was.

‘Life really is unpredictable’ he muses.

He has kept his distance from the girl, believing it to be the best thing available for him. He was so sure that he would have never had any chance, at all, to approach her. So sure he’d never stand a chance. So sure it was better to keep it so, that he could look, from afar, without telling her about his presence. Stalkerish and pathetic? Well, he’s done worse.

‘And, it turned out she already knew who I was. It turned out she has already seen me, even when I was trying to hide. And that she likes what I used to be, and what I am now’

It’s too much for him, and the thought still looks unreal, dream-induced, and yet, her presence is there, so solid, her body telling him that, yes, she’s there. She likes him. She knows him. She likes him enough to ask to stay close to him. And she trusts him enough to ask him to hold her close.

Of course, apocalyptic scenarios have already popped up in Ian’s brain, included the possibility that she might be acting, pretending to like him, for who knows what purpose. She might have guessed about his past as a blader, or maybe he doesn’t like as different as he thinks. Or, maybe, he’s working for someone who’s after them, and her presence here is the result of a very clever plan. Obviously, his oversized brain has already conjured the scenario where she’s working for Boris, and she’s trying to accomplish whatever task that son of a bitch has hired her for.

He hates to think like that.

He hates himself, his propensity for pessimism.

He hates his life, his past experiences, so negative that these chances do not look so far from the realm of possibility.

Most of all, he hates Boris, for tearing his life apart and putting him through all that shit. He hates him, for sneaking in into his life even now, when they’ve managed to throw him in jail, and he’s so far away, and yet he creeps into his life and affects him.

The truth, unfortunately, is that he needs to know, to be sure, that these scenarios are wrong. He needs to protect his teammates, and the children. He would never risk putting them in danger, not even because his careful self is now clouded by testosterone and… well, love.

‘Fuck’ he swears: it feels so unreal, to think of himself as a man in love.

Yes, he’s spent the last part of this year thinking of himself as in love, but, that was different. He knew he was in love, but it was a tragic kind of love. An unrequited, and a very impossible kind of love. It was like experiencing only the downside of love, so.. not really love.

He looks at her.

Now, now a part of him has started thinking that he really has a chance. That this.. love can actually grow into a real love. That maybe it already has more than just the potential to be such. He has started wondering if maybe, just maybe, and possibly even more, maybe he has a chance. With her. Of a future together.

The realization, through calm, still shocks him.

He realizes that he can really make that famous move that Tala was talking about.

Thinking of his captain brings up memories of his teammates, and he slightly blushes.

If Spencer and Tala were that insufferably idiotic about it, how bad is _Bryan_ going to be?

Sure, the Falcon has witnessed to Ian rescuing the girl, and he’s been as far from the joking mood as humanly possible, but, he’s bound to leave his cold, dangerous killer-like mode, and go back into his usual self.

How much exactly is Bryan going to tease him, for bringing Valeryia home, for saving her, for liking her?

He tries not to sigh, and only for the sake of the sleeping girl.

He’s fucking doomed.

 

 

Unknown from Ian, some floors under, the mighty Falborg master is already working on leaving his most dangerous assassin mode, and steering towards safer, more people-friendly settings of his personality.

The cold doesn’t bother him. He literally needs to cool down: for some inexplicable phenomenon, when his brain switches into violent and dangerous mode, the blind rage and the calculated fury that fog his conscience make his body temperature sky rocket.

It’s really weird, and annoying, and it took a while even for the chief doctors that injected him with the damned serum to realize it. They’ve never been able to explain it, though, and here Bryan is, with the only method to cool down he has ever found: spend a few hours outside, whatever the weather might be, the colder the better.

Well, a good alternative seems to be Tala, and more specifically Tala’s arms, but Bryan doesn’t want to depend on his captain and boyfriend for every time he needs to reset.

He can do this on his own, and he will. It’s embarrassing in the first place, the way his brain completely detaches from his body.

He is well aware that the same shit that has been done to him, the serum he has been injected and the brain-tampering they’ve done to his head, it’s nothing that the other three have been spared. It’s just that, he’s really, really embarrassed to admit that he’s the only one who loses it this much.

For how crazy the other three might go, they all maintain a stable connection between their dangerous mode, and their normal setting. It’s like they can stay close to that position, in the human brain, where you let some wild part of you come to play, but you remain in control. You still feel your conscience.

He doesn’t. He isn’t in control. He is dangerous, because, when he switches to dangerous mode, he really, really is dangerous. For his enemy, for his friends, even for himself. He doesn’t feel, he doesn’t think, he doesn’t care: he can only see and follow the path that brings him to achievement. Which inevitably translated in blood.

He shivers, but he doesn’t fully realize, and he’s not too sure he cares, either.

He’s twenty years old, he’s responsible for the safety and happiness of a bunch of kids, he’s their legal tutor, not too far from an older brother, even a father.

And he’s got _blood_ on his hands.

He runs his hands through his hair and leaves them there, fingers scratching at his scalp and pulling at the blond strands. They’re growing longer and longer, thicker like before he cut them military style, but he’s not letting them go back to his old style. The long, blond strands that used to whirlwind around him, when he was deadset on a mission, on a target… on killing someone.

He cut them just as soon as he, and his three teammates and only friends, were free from the nightmare that the Abbey has been. It had felt like a cry of rebellion, of war, declared to Boris and his goons, to the doctors that had tried to bring him down and make an animal out of him. A machine.

Sometimes he feels they managed. Sometimes he tells himself that, just by being afraid they did, it’s proof enough, the evidence he needs to know they didn’t. He’s in control. Now. Even if he loses it, even if he’s still as ruined inside as when he came back from that year of training…

He sighs and lifts his head, trying to see the pale moon in the cloudy sky. It’s not too difficult: it’s there, pale and far, so beautiful, silver magic and distant, and yet always so comforting. Moving, shifting in the sky, but always there.

His mother used to tell him stories about the moon. About how it always follows the same path, and, even if it sometimes lead it to darkness and what looks like total annihilation, then, back she is, just as pale and silver lighted, and just as beautiful as before.

Is he that pathetic, if he feels a tiny bit of resemblance?

His eyes sting, and he realizes it must be for the tears forming and clouding them.

Now, something that he sworn himself he’d never do, was crying. Especially over himself, and his ruined childhood and almost entire existence.

He won’t, he refuses the tears to escape the barrier of his lashes and keeps his eyes closed until he’s sure they’re gone. Sometimes it takes time, for them to just go.

He knows that, objectively speaking, it’s not like he’s had it any particularly worse than the others did. There has been other kids, before him, that have been experimented upon, and that were transformed into machine and war weapons. He’s fought against some of those, he has been told and made to kill them, sometimes. Others just died, even without his contribute.

Too weak, it’s what Boris, what the doctors said.

The chief doctor’s eyes shone, when he saw Bryan, even before he was tested the first time. He praised him in front of Boris, as if, instead of a kid, he was examining some purebred stallion, the most promising, most potential-wielding subject to tear apart and create as new, as a monster.

He used to think of him as Doctor Frankestein, because, just like him, the doctor liked to break down and tear apart human bodies, the kids brought down there, and reassemble what was left of them, their body, as if they were bodily parts that were reassembled into a new something, something really monstrous.

Just like him: a kid, torn apart, made into a machine.

A fucking good one, at being so deadly effective.

The doctor was so thrilled, when he found out that Bryan had, in fact, passed all the tests, succeeded in all the missions he had been given, showing no hesitation, and not even turning into a foaming, rabid dog that tries to attack its owner, too, too caught in the fight.

It’s probably the only reason why Bryan hasn’t been put down then and there, he reckons. Because he managed to maintain a facade of control, even if he totally was not. He was completely taken over by the serum, by the training, brain dead. But he looked sane, or, at least, in control.

The perfect weapon, the doctor called him.

Thank god the doctor has been so fond of his success, and had grown consequently so fond of Bryan himself, too, so much that, after a while, he decided that the kid had already been morphed into the perfect assassin, and there was no point in holding him down there any further. Let him go, he said. Let him come back up, with the other kids. Just be cautious, he recommended Boris, put him in proximity only of those you can be sure they will not trigger him. Possibly his friends from before, if he had any.

Bryan remembers with shame the moment he was brought back.

He had walked a couple of steps behind Boris, fighting the urge to tackle the man to the ground, slit his throat, stab the other two guards following him, and dash for the windows…

He had held it together only because he had been well aware, even in the foggy, uncertain state of mind of his, that his probability of success were far too low.

He had let them lead him back up, upstairs, the surface.

He remembers the first time he’d seen sunlight, after a whole year of being held down in the dungeons, where the experiments were made, where it was safer to tinker with the minds of kids that were brought from no longer innocent, scarred children with a nightmare past, to real monsters. That, sometimes, needed to be put down.

He had to lift a hand to cover his eyes, at first. It took him a few seconds to adjust, for his pupils to go back to their normal dimension, and his eyes to see, and focus and work.

In that few seconds of utter fragility, completely unaware and unpredictable for himself, the guards and Boris, he had raised one of the knives he’d started carrying with him, and had it pinned to Boris’ throat, the man shoved against the wall. Two guns were pointed at him, but the guards were well aware it was a stalemate. There was no way they’d managed to shoot Bryan before he’d slit Boris’ throat open.

Boris, on his part, had shouted them to freeze, raised his hands, and breathed normally, patiently waiting for Bryan to switch back to normal. It had been only a matter of seconds, but, in those seconds, he’d been just an animal. Not even the mere facade of control: he’d felt blind, scared, and in danger, so he’d reacted.

Boris had also had the gut of patronizing him, as soon as he realized Bryan was back in control. The kid was sheathing his knife, cheeks as pale as usual because he’d forgotten what was shame, since he had forgotten what conscience was, and Boris had smiled to him, complimented on his skills.

You’re so fast, he’d praised him.

Bryan feels like puking, only at the memory.

He’d met the other three Demolition Boys only a few minutes after, but, something he’ll never stop being thankful for, those minutes where enough for him to regain that facade of control.

Even so, when they’d seen him, he can now recall the shock on their faces.

He’d seen it then, too, but he hadn’t cared, only counted it as a plus, should he need to attack the newcomers.

Then he’d remembered. Not who they were, obviously, because after a whole year of training, of being treated like a beast and not a human being, you don’t exactly remember what friends are, or even that you used to be close to other people, for purposes different than killing, or steeling their clothes if they were warmer. But he’d remembered that he knew these people.

Boris had barked a few orders to the guards and to the Boys, and, with slightly softer words, had explained Tala that the Bryan that was standing in front of them was different.

Stronger, but also more dangerous.

That they should _fear_ him, and not irritate him.

Bryan had watched them with the steel face he’d grown to develop.

Boris had left.

Ian and Spencer had shared dubious looks, as if they couldn’t believe Boris’ words, and were not sure of what to do.

Tala, on the other hand, had just walked close to Bryan, keeping eye contact.

The impossibly light blue eyes, so cold and pale, had unnerved Bryan, but also triggered something in him, bringing up a memory that he had thought forgotten.

He thought of the moon.

Tala’s figure, clad in white clothes, with pale skin, clear eyes and those incredibly fiery red hair, had kept him enraptured, rooted to his spot, shoulders tense and fists clenched. He hadn’t known what to do, because he had not been able to understand what was happening.

Tala had walked the few steps from them, and only then he had lowered his gaze. He’d encircled Bryan’s waist with his arms, pulling him into a tight hug that had Bryan completely stiff, eyes wide. Tala had lowered his head on Bryan’s shoulder, the height difference between them enough, at that time, that the redhead could rest his forehead on Bryan’s shoulder.

Cold hands pressed against his back, a solid body against his, and a soft, murmured ‘I’ve missed you’.

Everything had come back, falling over him like an avalanche, and for a few seconds he had felt not even able to breath.

Then Bryan had put his arms against Tala, lowered his own head on Tala’s, feeling the soft strands against his forehead, and breathing in his oldest friend’s scent.

He hadn’t cried. It’d take a while, before he remembered how to, or even why. But he’d held Tala close, and when he raised his head, he could see Ian and Spencer and remember the persons standing there, remember what they were to him. He let them come closer, and, still not letting Tala go, he’d let them hug him. Ian with his blue eyes, so big and wide, and Spencer, getting bigger and bigger.

He exhales, and breathes out air that he wasn’t too aware he was holding.

Bryan lifts his head again, dry eyes looking again at the moon.

He’s been outside here for a while, and it would probably be safe to assume that he is back in control, enough to go back inside.

If it wasn’t for the kids, he would, but, inside the building there are a bunch of kids, most of whom have been spared the terrible sight of him going into killer mode, or experiencing the aftermath.

He knows he looks dead for wear, and that he should probably shower and eat and sleep, before interacting with his charges, but, at the same time he feels an incredible pull, to be there, to go inside, to pick up one of them, or hell, why not _all_ , and pull them close to his chest, hide and bury his face in their tiny bodies, and feel _human_.

He feels safer, when he knows he is what keeps them safe. He knows he has to be in control, and it’s what push him to be better, to be a decent person, to think and use his brain for more than just function. He wants to protect them, and shield them, and, will they ever know how any of them is so pivotal for his rehab from hell?

Tala would be a plus, in that group hug he’s picturing in his head.

He lets a soft smile creep up his face, imagining it, building it on the memory of a few days ago, of being sprawled under the kids, and reading them a chapter of Galileo's biography.

He’d love that. Sprawled on the soft, thick carpet. His kids all around and over his back and legs, using him as a human pillow, all close and unafraid, Babygirl curled up against his side, under his arm, holding half the book with her arm stretched over her.

And Tala, showing up from nowhere, just stopping on the doorstep and waiting, not disturbing the reading, just looking and smiling that soft, unguarded smile that Bryan loves, no, adores, because it means that Tala, too, feels safe and protected and happy.

He shakes his head and lowers his gaze on the ground, soft smile still on his lips.

He must look like an idiot, but, that’s what he is, after all. An idiot, in love, and who’s too damn thankful to whoever god or destiny there is up there, for giving him a family, after all.

He doesn’t think he could trade this, for any woman who might give him kids that are only his. These kids feel already his. Tala, most importantly, feels more important than any woman might ever be. He doesn’t mind, really. It’s been a long time, since he’d known he’d given up the world, for Tala. He definitely doesn’t mind giving up the few times he has fucked a girl.

He shakes his head. He’s getting hot and bothered for another reason now, and that’s totally not related to violence and him going into killer mode.

Well. It’s progress, isn’t it?

He pushes his hands on his own knees and gets up, slowly walking inside.

He takes the stairs, obviously, and starts slowly on the first steps, but, after half the first floor, he’s pacing and taking the steps two at a time.

He heads for the kitchen, where he hears Tala’s voice. He hears Spencer, too, and some of the kids, the rest of them, among which Em, in the living room. He slows down only when he is at the doorstep of the kitchen, and stops, lingering with an arm on the doorjamb.

Tala is sitting cross legged at one of the bench, one sock clad foot dangling elegantly in the air, and Bryan remembers he's still wearing shoes. Damn.

“Bryan!”

Andrej, one of the two twins he is in charge with, points at his boots’ clad feet and frowns: “Why are you wearing shoes? It’s not fair! I’m not cleaning after you!”

‘Ooops, it was their turn to clean the floors?’

“Shut it, Andrej” Andrej’s twin brother, Ilyia, is already walking backwards on Bryan’s path, checking that the older teen hasn’t messed up the floor they have, indeed, cleaned in the late afternoon.

The kid evidently judges the floor still clean enough, and turns to tell so to his twin.

“Still, he’s taking them off now, boys. Don’t worry” Tala intervenes, looking at Bryan with a soft smile that he totally doesn’t deserve, and that he wouldn’t be receiving, if it wasn’t for the fact that the redhead is well aware of the delicate moment that Bryan was having a while ago.

Andrej just shakes his shoulders, and pushes his twins away, when he sits back next to him on the bench. Ilyia pushes back and they both go back at peeling vegetables.

On the other side of the bench, more kids are helping out with the cooking. Spencer rarely recruits this many of their kids, beside when he wants to keep them from messing with something the Demolition Boys want them to stay away from.

Ian’s absence, and the absence of his voice from the other room, reminds Bryan as to what that reason might be.

He grins at Tala, whose eyes twinkle back mischievously, but that is the only way the two acknowledge their missing teammate’s situation, upstairs.

“Do you guys need some help?” he asks.

A chorus of 'no', with the variable of 'thanks' added.

The broad table’s benches are filled with helpers, some little, some less. On peeling vegetables duty there are the twins, Andrej and Ilyia. Spencer’s boys are conspicuously missing, and, considering that the three eleven years old kids love to spend as much time as possible glued to Spencer, it must have been a precise order from the big guy currently stirring pots and managing pans. On the bench close to the wall, Mikail is chopping cheese to tiny stripes. Next to him, Lukas and the two Yuris are cutting meat into tiny morsel, an action that finally tips Bryan as to what is being cooked.

He groans and raises his eyes on Spencer’s back, partly turned to him: “we’re having stew again?”

Spencer slowly turns, and the look he pins Bryan with is positively murdering.

‘Ops, wrong thing’ Bryan realizes.

Spencer does not particularly like to cook, but, because he’s the most skilled at doing so, he’s been put to permanent cooking duty. Some of the kids like helping him and learn from the older Demolition Boy, but in general they all turn to other duties, too.

The fact that he is the only one with a fixed responsibility makes Spencer slightly irritable on being criticized for the choice of the menu, and Bryan has evidently made the wrong move, complaining for food. It’s also very, very, likely that other kids have already complained about it, too.

He tries to backpedal, slowly raising his hands in the hands and smiling: “but it’s obviously fine, because, who doesn’t like stew?”

Too bad Malyshka enters in that very moment, frowning, and, in that monotone tone she uses when she’s being sarcastic, she states: “I thought you were teaching us not to lie”

Mikail covers a burst of laughter under a hand, pretending pithily to be coughing.

Andrey and Ilyia are much less kind, and nods vigorously in the direction of both their tutor and the only girl in the school, blabbering a chorus of ‘yes, you do, you tell us not to lie, but that was a lie’.

That has Mikail cough even louder, and Tala snickers as well: “Boys, I think we should work a bit more on that subtlety skill I was talking to you about” he chastises them in an amused voice, and with his hand he points at them to go back to the peeling duty.

The twins just shake their shoulders and obey. Differently from all the others, they have spent their entire life in the Abbey, and it’s not really their fault if they have developed such a poor tact. Nobody really blames them.

On the other hand, having spent all their entire life in the Abbey, they had almost no idea that girls even existed, and it took a while before they lowered their hostilities towards Malyshka. Their still unfriendly to her, here and there, but it’s generally better.

Of all the people present in the room that Bryan was expecting to side with Em on this very moment…

He stares at the girl, who's now smirking devilishly, and scowls.

Spencer turns to the stoves and chooses to ignore Bryan’s last comment, asking to his helpers for some ingredients. He’s being delivered chopped carrots, part of the potatoes, celery (‘Ew’, Bryan mentally cringes), tomatoes, and the meat morsel. He distributes the ingredients in different pots, and asks for more ingredient.

Bryan, fascinated, observes the preparation. The rest of the potatoes are oiled and put on a glass dish, then put in the oven. Mikail puts the cheese stripes in a small bowl, that remains near the stoves.

Bryan’s brain suddenly realizes that, yes, there is stew, but also baked potatoes with melted cheese. He tries not to let his relief show too much, and turns.

He meets Tala’s eyes, and he freezes under the growing smile of his captain and boyfriend. But then the redhead’s smile goes from devious to soft, and Bryan smiles back.

“Well, I’ll go see if the others need help” he states, and leaves, moving to the dining room, where bright lights and voices tell him that the rest of the kids are laying the table, and waiting impatiently for the food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to make up for absence!  
> As you must have noted, half is dedicated to Ian, half to Bryan. A tiny bit also to Tala and Spencer.  
> More on Tala, and his relationship with Bryan, is coming. As the part where he and Bryan works in mysterious ways, to help our Ian out.


	9. Morning-Afters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys being adorable, Ian having a crisis (but manning up!), a peek into family life with our favorite Russian bladers, and, why not, group hugs.

‘Morning after’ is a name that carries such foul connotations, the sound bringing up into most minds memories of obnoxious wakings and terrible realizations. Who _likes_ morning afters? They bring forward the most terrible realizations. About overdone drinking, possible incoming sickness related to that, or about very poor bedding partner. Only a fool, or a masochist, would like morning afters.

They’re bad for a definition.

Unless you wake up like Ian, with the sun hitting his face, unfiltered by the curtain he never draw over the only window of his room. Slightly chilled by the cold air of a night stupidly spent over the bed covers, instead of under their warmth.

But with a body providing personal heat pressed up close to him, practically plastered against his side and chest. That body belonging to Valeryia, who begins to stir with the sensual slowness of innocence barely an instant Ian’s brain has realized that the presence in bed is her. With her impossibly big blue eyes curtained by long, blond strands, that are parted with a delicate hand, when she fixes him with a stare that is very much more present, and coherent, and lucid, than the ones of the previous day.

And, right when Ian is picturing her starting screaming him bloody names, and possibly calling him a creeper or even worse, for drugging her and dragging her to his bed, she smiles, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but honest.

“Oh, god, it wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asks, her beautiful voice ringing in his ears as the first sound of the day, and never has he started a day in a better way. He smiles back at her, not really caring about his own blushing cheeks.

Or unless you wake up like Bryan, with a solid body thrown across your chest, legs tangled with yours, right hand abandoned on the pillow under the head, and left hand buried in the softest, reddest strands of hair in the world. The slow breathing of the chest on top of his, the gentle calm induced by deep sleep of the face buried in his shoulder, the warmth of that solid body, all of this is whispering into Bryan’s ear a promise of safety, of comfort, of lazy happiness.

Tala is there, protected and healthy, and enjoying the rest he needs. And Bryan just watches, keeps staring at the parts of his lover’s face that he can see from his position, and slowly, barely moving, caresses the red, growing strands, noticing how they’re getting longer and longer, exactly like before the Abbey. He smiles softly at that, remembering how much he used to love braiding and combing that red hair for its owner, playing it down like a favor, and teasing him for having girly hair, when he would have gladly spent all day with his fingers buried in there.

Or unless you wake up like Tala, cradled in a warm embrace, the strong body you love under you, an arm sneaked around your back, protecting you, even if you don’t really need protection, because you can take care of yourself, thankyouverymuch, but loving the attention, the love, the safety that contact transmits. And when you stir, slightly rubbing your forehead against a muscled shoulder, and raise your head, the first thing you see is a set of two deep, bright, incredibly green eyes, that are shining more than the smile on the lips a few centimeters under ever could.

Or unless you wake up like Spencer, alone in your bed, gently roused to consciousness by the sun filtering through the light curtains, and still half asleep crawl out of the comfort of your bed covers, put on some clothes, walk down the stairs and start working on a tasty breakfast for your… _nineteen_ kids, nineteen people you care for and have grown to love, and to whom you show your affection by ensuring they start their day with the healthiest and tastiest thing you can put together.

Making sure they eat their vitamins, because the majority of them are still deep in their growing age, and possibly slipping vitamins also in food destined for older kids who are definitely no longer going to grow, but it’s always best to keep an eye on them, because they can’t take care of themselves, honestly, forgoodnesssake, and so it’s totally a good thing that you’re doing, spiking the coffee they’re going to grab and gulp down.

Or unless you wake up like one of the boys, or the only girl, of the family of the kids who used to live in Boris Balkov’s Abbey, who forgot what a family was in the first place, or normalcy, or food, tasty and warm, or the affection of a friend embracing you, or a joking push when you’re rushing for the bathroom and no, move out of my way, I need it first, me first me first me first, sbam, door slammed against someone’s face, and swearing loud.

Well, if you’re Babygirl, actually, at this point you’d be looking down with the most haughty face you can muster at all those screaming boys, mutter something along the line of devilish inventions like men waking you up, and could run for your own private bathroom and enjoy the service with no rush, and, most importantly, nobody shouting outside the door banging and demanding that you move.

So, you see, morning- afters are technically bad, but it all depends on the scale of reference you use to judge the term, after all.

\- -  

The Demolition Boys were used, during their unfortunately too long life in the Abbey, to very little sleep, and killer tiring trainings during the day. That being said, it would be surprising for anyone, if they saw them now, how they effectively struggle to leave the comfort of their bed (or of one of their teammates’ bed, in the specific case of one of them), get up, dress a minimum and take the stairs for the kitchen.

Tala bumps into Bryan at least twice, in his way from bed to bathroom, back to bedroom heading for chair where he’s thrown his clothes the night before. Bryan, on the other hand, almost trips when pulling up his jeans, not wanting to bump into Tala (who’s very trippy in the mornings, and in the mornings only, mind you, but you shouldn’t have him notice if you care for you life), and scowls at his own feet.

They reach the kitchen, Bryan still finishing pulling down his hoodie on his chest, and they pad on the wooden floor till they reach the kitchen. Spencer of course is there, already working on their breakfast, water already boiling, coffee steaming and milk being warmed up just that instant.

Whalborg’s master has put on socks and a pair of black pants that might have been those he’s slept in with, and a thick blue sweater. He’s carefully cutting ingredients as he, as Bryan often called it, ‘works his magic’ and produces them the most awesome breakfast they would dream of having at the present moment. So, basically, food, good food at that, that did not require any work from them.

Bryan rubs his eyes and face, trying to wake up some more, and asks, out of habit, if the cook needs help. Spencer, out of habit, just shakes his head no, then instructs him to pour coffee for him and himself.

“Me too” Tala calls, sitting on one of the bench.

Bryan takes three mugs from the cupboard and start pouring coffee in all of them. He offers one to Spencer, and grabs one for himself, walking aimlessly towards the giant, wall-sized window. He stares at the sky and garden outside for a solid minute, occasionally sipping his coffee, before feeling a bit more human.

At the table, Tala is drinking with more grace than Bryan, but not looking any less tired. He mulls over his own thoughts, then clicks his tongue loudly.

“I really wouldn’t want to spoil Ian’s morning after, but, if we don’t put on the music, the kids are going to suspect something. Especially since he wasn’t at dinner, yesterday” he points out.

“I wonder what Mik and the other two have said” Bryan turns slightly over his shoulder to look at his teammates and friends, and sees Tala shaking his head.

“They haven’t said a thing. It’s the first time they can cover him, instead of the other way around. They’d never say a word”

“True” Spencer agrees: “but we can put on some music, without him, can’t we? So the kids won’t know” he suggests, shaking his big shoulders.

“I can. I’ll go see what I have. I might even have some of his tracks, somewhere” Bryan volunteers, and raises his eyes on the ceiling.

Tala snorts: “And here I thought you said you didn’t like his music”

Bryan makes a face: “Don’t be stupid. You can’t not like it. If you’ve got ears you’re bound to like it. Of course, I would never admit it to him out loud, but that’s different”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head: “Considering that he knows that we all listen to his stuff, I don’t think your plan his working”

“Yeah, and considering that I’m here” a voice pipes up from the doorstep, and there Ian is, shit-eating grin plastered on his face and lingering casually on the doorjamb: “I’d say your plan fails from all perspectives”

Tala and Spencer chuckles, while Bryan growls with no real anger.

The Falcon grabs a fourth mug and puts it on the table, where Tala pours coffee in it.

Spencer keeps mental tabs on the dose of the vitamins he had to spike the coffee with, and mentally thanks his own genius brain for coming up with some vitamins that are not destroyed by coffee, because there is no other way he could have had Tala and Ian take them.

Tala is just too proud to admit that he needs rest, go figure if he’d ever accepted vitamins. Ian, on the other hand, might even take it personal as a jibe against his short stature, and get really mad.

‘I’m a fucking genius, that’s all’

Meanwhile, Tala notices that Ian is still wearing his clothes from the day before, when he and Bryan took the older kids to the race. The dark jeans are slightly rumpled, and he must have slept in them, as is the tight sweater. He raises one perfect red eyebrow and smirks at Ian, after sharing a meaningful grin with Bryan.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t make a move with your guest” the redhead says.

Ian immediately stiffens, and straightens.

“I didn’t” he states, calmly.

“Yeah, but, you see” Bryan intervenes, leaning casually against the window side, more or less mirroring Ian’s previous position: “that’s not exactly what those clothes are telling us. You know, those scream ‘I finished fucking her a few minutes ago and rushed out her house'..”

Spencer stifles a laugh and tries to keep his mouth as shut as possible, but he can’t hide much the trembling of his shoulders.

Tala’s grin goes from teasing to devilish, because Ian _blushes_ , and, Tala is pretty sure nothing has happened between him and the girl, not when Ian has sounded serious enough the day before, when he told Tala all those crappy things about not being enough to make a move with her, but. Well. He’s really falling for Bryan’s game, and it’s hilarious, because, it’s Ian, and Ian never falls for Bryan’s teasings. Usually.

“I...” he stammers, and then Tala bursts out laughing, because, not only is Ian blushing, but his mouth opens and closes like a fish a couple of times, with no sound being uttered, and that’s so un-Ian-like, that it’s too much.

Even Spencer laughs, unsuccessfully hiding it behind a very large hand.

“I didn’t at all!” Ian protests, cheeks in flame, eyes widening to blue, giant saucers.

“Uhu” Bryan mutters, smirking like he does in these situations: “and you’re not wearing yesterday’s clothes, either”

“Well, that’s...” Ian falters, and tries again, steeling himself and visibly trying to win against his embarrassment: “Of course I am. I didn’t exactly have the time to shower and change, considering that I had to take care of a drugged girl, who, by the way, fell asleep right after I put her in my bed!”

“Ouch, that must have hurt your poor ego” Spencer adds, and Tala bangs his forehead on the table.

Ian looks flabbergasted, utterly deceived by Spencer’s betrayal, but the big guy is looking at him with a merry look in his eyes, something like, sorry pal, we’re friends and I’m so happy for you, but I can’t give up on this chance to tease you.

“No, it didn’t!” Ian vehemently insists, almost stomping his foot: “because I’m not that kind of person!”

“What kind? The smart one?” Bryan asks dryly.

Ian blushes, but his eyes shine with fury: “I wouldn’t have touched her with a finger, when she was fucking out of herself! She was so high on painkillers she could barely understand what was going on. I seriously doubt she had any idea of who she was talking to, let alone what about”

Tala raises his head and quirks an eyebrow, interested: “Why, what did she say?”

Ian opens his mouth, but then evidently he must consider it safer to just not answer. Unfortunately, gaping like a fish in front of his teammates is a very not smart idea.

He used to be smarter than this, he scolds himself.

“Oho, that sounds promising” Bryan pipes in, pushing himself from the window with a very sinuous movement and sliding down on the bench opposite Tala’s. Even Spencer is looking with a waiting stare in his eyes.

Ian just swears and slides on the bench, close to Tala, grabbing the still steaming mug of coffee: “Nothing that she remembers, thank god”

“Why?” Bryan frowns.

“What did she say?” Tala insists, an idea forming in his brain. The girl must have said something too good for Ian, and now he can’t process it. It’s the most obvious scenario, really: the only things Ian is driven not to consider as real possibilities, are good ones. The better, the more he deems them as unrealistic, hence, false.

Ian drinks. “Come on, midget! For fucks sake!” Bryan swears: “I’ll tell you that I like your music, if I have to, but tell me what did she say”

“Hey! My music is amazing, and you’ve already said it!”

“Guys!” Tala raises his voice, and they go quiet.

“Come on, Ian” Spencer insists: “you’ve got us worried, now. Seriously, what did she say? Is it that bad?”

Ian swallows: “No, it’s worse” he answers, looking very pale.

“What, she working for Boris?” Bryan frowns, but Ian, much to everyone’s relief, just scoffs and smiles softly.

“No. Not as far as I know, but it’s always a possibility, so, I’ll have to make sure she isn’t, you know.. spying on us. I’ll probably change the alarm system right this morning..”

“Ian” Tala interrupts him, and shoots a glare at his boyfriend, before going back to stare deeply at Ian: “what the fuck, how did you come up with that idea? Why would she be working with Boris?”

“Well, it’s always a possibility...”

“Ian” Spencer interrupts Ian, with a steady, calm voice that takes no excuses: “what did she say?”

Ian exhales loudly.

Tala is almost one hundred per cent sure that the girl must have said she likes Ian.

“That she knows me, ok? I mean, previous me. And now me, obviously, but he didn’t put together the past me and current me. Which is, well, pretty understandable, she almost never saw my face at the club, and..”

“Wait” Bryan raises one hand, interrupting him. He stares at the smooth surface of the table, then raises his eyes in Tala’s ones, before, thinking, and then into Ian’s: “she said she likes you?”

Ian blushes and start blabbing a line of well, yes, no, well.

“She did, didn’t she” Spencer remarks.

“I, well, actually, she… she did” Ian admits.

Tala nods. Yep, prevision totally true. Girl says she likes Ian, Ian doesn’t believe girl, his brain starts coming up with terrible scenarios where she is, not only lying, but also a spy working for the enemy.

Tala shakes his head and drinks a deep swallow of coffee, before slamming the cup down on the table again, empty.

“Look” he starts, fixing Ian with a deep stare, his stare that says, don’t you try to give me your shit and listen to me. He doesn’t really know why this stare of his is always so affecting on people, but, it works even on Ian, so it must be really miraculously effective: “we started this yesterday, and we finish this today. Because, there is no way I’m letting you go the day and the rest of your life, with this stupid attitude of yours in your head. It’s not the Abbey anymore. Things happen, and sometimes they’re good. For no real reason. They just happen. I get it, good things in the Abbey never, or almost never, happened, and when we thought they did, it was a lie, but. It’s the real world now. And you have to stop, for fuck sake”

Ian goes for opening his mouth, but Tala isn’t done, and quirks his head, adding: “If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for the kids. I’m not saying don’t be smart or cautious, but, don’t be apocalyptic, either”.

Spencer raises his head to the ceiling: “I can’t fucking believe this. I was thinking the worst scenarios possible, by now, you moron” he stands and goes back to the stove, stirring the pan with the food for the kids, but turning to watch at Ian here and then: “and, instead, it turns out that she likes you. Now, if I find out that the reason you’ve being all emo and moping these last two months, is because you thought you had no chance with this girl, without even _trying_ to make a move, so help me god, Ian, it’s going bad for you”

Bryan bats his lashes: “Oh my god” he whispers in realization, staring at Ian with a stricken face: “It’s true, isn’t it? That’s the reason you were all depressed, wasn’t it?”

Ian doesn’t answer, and how could he, but his silence is unfortunately more effective at answering Bryan’s question.

The Falcon snort and stands, paces the kitchen up and down for a couple of seconds, then stops with his hands raised in the air. “I, you.. man, you have to help me understand this, because. _Hell_. Fuck, you’re the smartest of us, ok? Not counting cyberbrain there”

Tala growls at the jab but Bryan goes on, nonetheless.

“Exactly, how the fuck? What the fuck? And, yes, most importantly, how the fuck? Why in hell have you thought it was better to just mope, like, I don’t know, you found out something really bad has happened, when, actually, it was something this stupid?”

“It’s not stupid at all, ok? Excuse me for taking into accounts reality, and not exactly expecting that the girl I’m in love with might be even a slightly bit into me, when I’m.. me! With a hell of a past, no prospect of future, and more problems than centimeters from head to feet!”

“So, you’re in love with her?” Tala bluntly asks, because he needs to be sure that Ian has this clear in mind, at least.

Ian blushes lightly again, but then answer a very breathed out, very soft ‘yes’.

“Are you fucking stupid? Do you even hear yourself?” Bryan goes on, growing more and more irritated the more he gets into the discussion: “I’m sorry, but, who do you think you’re talking to? We all are fucked up. We’ve all got a nightmare for past, and, I’m not going to turn this into a race at ‘I had it worse than you’, because that’s fucking useless and immature, but, fuck you! Ian, you spent two fucking years trying to persuade me that I had to grow the balls to talk to Tala, remember that? ‘Cause I specifically remember you telling me that ‘you can’t foresee if the person you love might wanna try to see if they feel the same, if you don’t open first, and tell them how you feel’. Weren’t these your exact words?”

“Wow. And they didn’t convince you? It was a very nice way to put it” Tala comments casually, frowning with an admiring expression of his face.

Bryan grimaces and rolls his eyes: “They did, but then there was the problem of finding a way and a moment to tell you. You weren’t helping either, with all the girls you were going with”

“Ok, how about we stay on Ian’s topic?” Spencer intervenes, looking pointedly at Bryan, and then moving back to Ian: “Seriously. What the fuck? Really”

“Fuck you guys, you can’t understand, ok? It’s not the usual case of talking nice words, and not putting them into practice. I mean, I get it, I’m not the only one who’s fucked up, and with a terrible past. So what? Have you fucking looked into a mirror? I mean, fuck you, you can’t really understand my problem, here”

Bryan looks taken aback, and, for lack of things to say, he just opens and closes his mouth, not too differently to what Ian has done a few minutes before.

Tala, who is the only one who has at least heard the starting of this before, just swallows silently, and waits for Ian to go on, his shoulders heaving clearly letting out that he hasn’t finished.

He’s probably trying to put it in a better way, Tala realizes, anticipating Ian’s most likely next move. He’s probably going to work in pretty words to explain his point of view. And, Ian is totally very persuading when he wants to be, so Tala needs to pay attention. Because, pretty words or not, this is still bullshit, and Tala is totally calling it on.

“Sorry, man, but, you lost me, too, not only Bryan” Spencer admits, shutting off the stoves and moving the food to prevent it from burning or going spoiled.

Ian rolls eyes and sits again on the side of the bench, having stood at some point during his last rant.

“We share something. That’s a hell of a past, broken childhood, some of us more than others, and very difficult prospects for the future. And we all know that, the only way we can pretend we can have a shot at normalcy, is sticking together. We could never do this among.. normal people, which I basically why we’re keeping the kids with us. Beside the fact that most of them can’t go back, I mean”

“And that’s something I understand and even agree” Spencer nods.

“Well, there is also something that we don’t share. I mean, we are all scarred inside, but, on the pros side, people usually are first attracted by exterior looks. So, if you are lucky with that, it might be easier to cover up on the mess you’ve got inside, or even persuade the person you’re seeing that they might want to try and put up with you, and with your screwed back story, because, hey, at least you’re, you know. Pretty, and exterior beauty might help them remember that there must be something good, also inside of you”

Silence.

Tala chuckles slightly, immediately attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

“Wow, Ian. You really have a way with words. I mean, I knew you were going to find a nice way to put it, but, you’re really good. I mean, if I hadn’t paid attention enough, I wouldn’t have even realized that all that talking was, basically, you trying to cover up for vanity”

Ian stiffens, and his eyes harden, but Tala is having none of that. His stare gets glacial as well, and he keeps eye contact, not backing down a millimeter.

“You’re saying that you aren’t pretty, so you shouldn’t even try. And that’s, really…almost naive, in its stupidity. You give up, even before trying. I don’t recognize you, Ian, you’ve never been a quitter”

Ian looks tired at this: “Maybe on this I am”

“Maybe on this you’re being stupid” Tala rebuke, trying to soften the tone, at Ian’s tired reply.

“Oh, come on, you’re the last person who could talk” Ian dryly bites back: “seriously, Tala, I appreciate the effort, but, fuck you. You don’t even need a mirror to know how you look. If it was Spencer or Bryan saying this, I could justify it on stupidity and modesty. Obviously Bryan’d be the former. But you?”

For a moment, Tala doesn’t know how to answer, and it shows.

He knows he’s pretty. Hell, he knows he’s probably a bit more. He’d be stupid not to know, considering that he’s been called the most embarrassing names since he was nine, for fuck sake, by all the guards of the Abbey, by some of the eldest kids, the doctors, and sometimes even by Boris himself.

Even all the girls he has dated, they always complimented on his looks, before anything else. Sure, he was witty, and deep, and intelligent, but, the first thing people would always think about when looking at him, the first adjective, that’s pretty.

And he’s never _liked_ this. The fact that Bryan tells him so only very rarely, and in very private moments, is part of the reason why he loves his relationship with the Falcon.

Still, being somewhat accused of his looks in this way doesn’t seem really fair.

It’s not his fault if he looks like the way he looks, just like Ian can’t be blamed if he has incredibly penetrating and beautiful dark blue eyes, a nose objectively too long, and is not as tall as the other guys in the team- but, hey, at least, when people look at him in the face, the first thing they are stricken with, is the idea of utter intelligence.

So Tala is not going to apologize to Ian for looking pretty.

But, at the same time, even if he is very prone to anger, he tries to stay calm, and think. He tries to put what Ian has just said into a broader framework, to understand, to find the correct answer, and possibly to find words to reply that can be as effective as the ones that, fuck, Ian _always_ manages to find.

“If I am not mistaken, you said that she likes previous you, as in, Abbey you. Didn’t you say that?”

“He did” Spencer agrees, voice monotone, arms crossed on his chest. He doesn't know where this is going, but he trusts his captain enough to hold up his game.

“And, that means that she must know us, too, since we were always together. Also, I bet that by ‘previous you’ you meant ‘blader’ you, so she must have followed the team. Hence, she has to know us, too. Correct?”

Ian breathes a long breath out to stay calm, and nods.

“So, even if she has seen how, how to say, _pretty_ I am..”

It’s not really his fault if he’s spitting the word out like it’s burning him, right?

“..she still likes you, and not me. Am I wrong?”

Ian opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything.

He slowly lowers his gaze on the wooden surface of the table, and Tala has a couple of ideas as to the reasons for the way his blue eyes are going glossy and glassy.

He feels bad a bit, for bringing Ian down like this, in front of the other two, but, this is important. Ian has to get this through that thick skull of his, and Tala wants him to understand that he, as well, can have a chance, a shot at normalcy, just like anyone else in their screwed up family.

That he can believe in himself, for reasons that are different from the ones they’ve been taught to do so, in the Abbey. He’s much more than what Boris programmed him to be, just as Tala, and Bryan, and Spencer are. Just like the kids are.

“So, I fail to see your point, Ian. If I am so pretty, than why does she like you? Unless you were wrong, and, a, you’re not that bad after all, or b, what you said about fucked up people needing a pretty cover is real bullshit. Or, c, possibly the two before, together”

“Yeah, I’m more for the last one” Bryan nods with a grin, lighting up the mood in a way that Tala still has no idea how he can.

Spencer chuckles, and so does Ian, even if he doesn’t raise his eyes.

At that,  Spencer drags a long breath out, and pushes himself forward: “Well, we all knew that this was coming. So, let’s do it now, so we can all go back to normal state of things, alright? I’ve got a breakfast to make, and it ain’t gonna cook itself”

“Weird, I thought that was the way it worked” Bryan teases him, and mirrors his movement, sharing a grin.

“Fuck you”

Ian raises his eyes just enough to understand what the two approaching guys are planning, and not letting the tears show, but the rest of this team can be pretty stealthy even in plain sight, when they want.

He ends up in the middle of the most embarrassing, most humiliating, and possibly even bone-breaking, one and only group hug he has ever experienced.

Tala ruffles his hair while Bryan and Spencer tackles him to the benches he’s on, and Ian has never wished more strongly to be at least as tall as Tala and Bryan, because this is seriously embarrassing.

“Wow, ok, ok, guys, I got it. You can let go, seriously, too much affection. Too much affection kills, you know?” he tries to salvage his honor, but Bryan chuckles deeply in his throat and _kisses_ his cheek.

Spencer chuckles and ruffles his hair, mirroring Tala’s action: “Bullshit. Remember what those shrinks used to tell us, when we left the Abbey? Group hugs can be very beneficial”

The redhead slithers a hand on the back of Ian’s head and pushes down, until Ian’s face is buried in the soft fabric of his sweater, and Ian realizes that Tala is silently offering his top for Ian to dry the tears still swelling his eyes.

“Ok, we can let him go, now” the captain states, taking a step back and assuring himself that Ian is clear to go.

He is, and his eyes flash a very felt thank you to the redhead’s light blue ones.

Then he turns towards the still retreating Bryan, and point a finger towards him: “You like my music, you’ve said it”

Bryan sits on the floor, sliding along the window, and rolls eyes: “Whatever. It’s ok”

Ian laughs triumphantly, shouting ‘I knew it!” in the air.

“Yeah, yeah, now go wake the kids up. They’re going to take the usual while, before they come down here for breakfast, and I want them on a good mood” Spencer orders, turning back to the stoves and switching them back on, going back to finish the cooking.

“Oh, and, if you want I can go take care of your girl, midget, don’t worry” Bryan offers, grinning.

“Fuck you, Falcon. Go near her and I’ll castrate you”

“I’d really rather if you wouldn’t” Tala nonchalantly states, crossing his legs and pouring himself another cup of coffee, trying to keep down the proud smile that he feels creeping up, at Ian decisive reply.

Marking the territory is barbaric, and patriarchal, and so medieval. But, sometimes, in cases like this, is fucking healthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok guys, this is possibly the end, or, more likely, the last chapter before an epilogue.  
> I can't believe I made it so far!


	10. AKA epilogue: When All’s Said and Done:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, This is it!

'All said and done', Ian muses, pondering on his actual life: 'this could be way worse'.

He’s not having a bad life, at all: he’s dating his dream girls for a few months, and they have already gone through the ritual of the first arguing sessions, which can’t be really called ‘fights’, since that would be way too much a strong word to describe what happened.

He’s told Valeryia he couldn’t believe his luck, or just that he was awake, because, after the Abbey, dating a goddess sounded way too unrealistic. This has triggered Valeryia into bursting in tears, as Ian found out that the poor, beautiful girl had a very low, very terrible self-esteem. Apparently, abusive parents and street life tends to do poor to your mental health, and he has had her promise him to go visit a doctor every once in a while, to chat about this. He can understand if Valeryia has thought very little and very low about herself in the past, but he’s having none of that now.

"You’re a goddess, whether you see it now, or not" he’s told her.

Guess what? She’s cried some more, not believing he was really in her life.

He’s told her, he could definitely understand and share the feeling.

They’re good now, having faced this first rock together. He keeps making music, mainly thinking of her, and the way she would dance to the music he produces. This has had the only negative consequence of his music taking a very sensual, even sexual turn for a short period, but he’s back on track even from that point of view, now.

He keeps working at the club where she keeps dancing, but with the difference that she spends the majority of the nights at the school, in Ian’s room.

The Demolition Boys have all insisted that she moved out of her first apartment, anyway, where she had been assaulted. She, being the sensible girl she is, has agreed and promptly changed place, moving in a different area, which also happens to be closer to both the club and the school.

She also very rarely leaves the club without one of the Boys in tail, because, even if they have found out who had sent those men after her, and although this person had been.. persuaded by a very lethal combo of a very pissed off Ian and Bryan not to bother her any longer, well. It never hurts to be more cautious than strictly required, right?

So, Ian’s relationship with Valeryia is going supremely well.

He is quite content with his family life, too: his very large family is happy and flourishing, with everyone taken good care of.

Mikail has had his first stage performance, to assist which they have obviously all gone. In general, all the kids have watched their older ‘brother’ with stars in their eyes for all the performance, some of them even with their mouths hanging open, and Piter and Ivan have spent the entire night grinning with impossible pride. Although, the most involved of them all has been, unsurprisingly, Tala. Ian is sure that he has seen tears swelling the captain’s eyes at some point.

The soiree itself has been great, and Mikail, who had played the main character, has been called on the stage by shouts of bravo and people clapping at least ten times. At the last round, he has been asked if he wanted to call on the stage his teacher as well. What many have not been expecting, was that the kid has walked by the five teachers of the ballet school, and has gone straight to where Tala was sitting, bringing him up the stage, hands in hands. The Madame of the school, who Ian has seen in that occasion for the first time, has smiled benevolently at both the boys, and handed the flowers to both.

Obviously, Bryan and Ian has yet to finish mocking Tala for that.

Things are going good, also for the rest of the children. Malyshka has solved Vanya and Lukas problems, apparently, when she told them very straightforwardly that she has no intention of dating one of them, especially before being at least eighteen.

This has obviously gained Babygirl a very big grin from Bryan. Who, in turn, has been given deep scowls from both Tala and Spencer.

As Spencer said: "Really, Bryan? Eighteen? Do you want my boys to die of blue balls?"

The reaction of the Falcon to the topic of sex been raised in relation to ‘his’ babygirl has been… unpleasant, to say the least. Let’s just say that it has been a good thing that the one triggering his wrath has been Spencer, who was a big boy, and could take everything the other threw at him.

They also managed to put Tala to some forced rest, just as the doctor has suggested. Who could have imagined that young, adorable Nikolay would turn out to be such a sneaky little shit? He personally managed to drag Tala to the couch, just by raising his arms and demanding to be cuddled. Bryan has been slightly offended, the first time.

\----

"Soooo, I take it things are going good, with your girl, uh?"

"You can make fun of me for all you want, Bryan. I’m not telling you details"

"Aww, come on! I even said please!"

"Nu-uh" Ian replies, shaking his head: "I’ll bite my tongue off, before telling you just one tiny detail. And, for your information, yes, this is precisely my revenge for when I was asking, and you never told me one thing about you and Tala" he adds, addressing his team member and friend with an air of fake superiority.

Bryan looks taken aback at this, and for a few seconds gapes at Ian, mouth hanging open. Then he closes it, and in his eyes appears a light of mischief, accompanied by the deep awareness that, should he be caught in the act of this offer, he will be probably even more than castrated.

"Well.." he starts, sensibly lowering his voice to barely a fistful of decibel: "I could tell them now…?"

Ian’s head snaps upwards so fast that for a second it physically hurts. Then he opens his mouth, going for a shout, but it dawns on him that his balls might incur in the same, tragic end of Bryan’s, should a certain redhead captain of theirs ever hear them. So he lowers his voice, too, and, for good measure, also casts a careful glance around.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!" he whisper-shouts: "First, if Tala hears you, we’re both dead. Both, Bryan! And I’m not exactly ready to die for the mere knowledge of thedetails of your sexual adventures!"

To that, Bryan just answers raising a single, very blond eyebrow.

"Ok, well, not to ready- Ian hastily amends: "and, that’s beside the point. You didn’t tell me when I wanted to know! You left me hanging for…" he goes cross eyed for a second while he counts mentally the months: "some time" he finally decides: "No way I’m telling you details now!"

Bryan pouts.

Literally pouts.

Ian’s reaction is of pure horror. He just gapes at the tall blond blader, brain thinking that, evidently, his big blue eyes utterly must be unable of processing the image they’re presented with in the correct way. This is Bryan, for god’s sake! He can’t pout, as in, by definition!

He shakes his head slightly, and his voice falters a little bit: "Y..You’ve definitely spent too much time with Babygirl"

"Actually, I took this from Nikolay- Bryan carelessly answers, adding a dazzing smile that is definitely way too much for poor Ian’s brain.

"Oh my god, do they know they’ve created a monster?"

Yes, he’s obviously very happy to ascertain that one of his best friends here is finally free (or feels more free, at least) of the demons he’s been plagued by during the time at the Abbey and after, but. Seriously? Do the kids even know what they’ve encouraged?!

"I think they do" is Bryan answer, still with that dazzling smile of his.

Ian shakes his hands in the air between them, as in, in front of his face and Bryan’s chest.

"Ok, no. This is way too much. This evil plan of theirs must be stopped, or I’ll be damned"

"You’ll be in good company then. Tala said the same thing" Bryan lets casually drop, and then winks at him with such a heavy dose of mischief that it’s seriously, way too dangerously bordering on leering: "Of course, it seem that he couldn’t do much more beside complaining that first time, though"

"Oh my god!" Ian winces, and covers his poor, innocent eyes with his hands. Unfortunately, this can’t really save him from what he’s heard, nor can it save his just as poor, just as innocent, ears from hearing the words and let them echo in his brain.

"Why isn’t brain bleach a thing?" he whines, hands still firmly pressed on his face.

"Hey" Bryan jokes: "you’ve been asking for details for months, by now. And you’re scandalized by such an innocent pun?"

"Which pun?" a voice pipes in.

Ian freezes, and his hands are slowly lowered, revealing deer-caught-in-the-headlights fear-stricken blue eyes, that equally reflect the terror in pale green eyes.

Bryan, frozen on the spot, just lowers his head, and tries to deepen the charming smile on his face. The result would be devastating, if it wasn’t for the uneasiness that shines a bit too clearly from his eyes. Ian wonders how long will they live, after the voice of their redhead captain has interrupted their friendly bantering.

"Hey, Tala! Fancy seeing you here!"

Ian mentally facepalms himself.

'Really?! Bryan, you stupid moron, you’ve signed our death!'

Ian spins and sees one of Tala’s (annoyingly) perfect red eyebrow rise in incredulity.

"Really, Bryan?" he deadpans, still looking at the two of them like he demands an answer. And probably getting more and more annoyed by the second at not receiving one, most likely.

Just when Ian’s brain is already anticipating images of dreadful future developments for the situation they’re in, the unexpected happens. Bryan’s grin grows, becoming cheekier and, admittedly, very very handsome: "Yes, darling"

Tala’s second eyebrow joins the first, and Ian is sure they’re dead, but Tala is chuckling, and shaking his head: "You’re a moron" he comments, voice laced with fondness and eyes not leaving Bryan for a second.

Bryan just shakes his shoulders: "Never said the opposite"

Tala scoffs and points his index at him: "Never call me that again, or, charming or not, I’ll fucking kill you"

"Is that a promise?"

Ian is not gaping only because he has the slight idea that, by refraining from interfering with the situation, he has more possibility to survive this encounter. And he can’t believe what is going on. Is Bryan flirting with Tala? And in front of him?!

Tala chuckles fondly again, shaking his head. The gesture doesn’t manage to keep the blushing on his cheeks from Ian’s eyes. While the redhead disappears along the corridor, Ian turns, mouth hanging now open like a fish out of water. Bryan is grinning like an idiot, obviously very proud of the achievement just accomplished.

"Did you.. did you just… you’ve just fooled Tala???!" Ian whisper-shouts, his voice so low that he’s basically just mouthing the words.

Bryan wiggles his eyebrow and keeps grinning.

"Looks like I did" he whispers back.

"Oh my god! What has happened to you! What the fuck! I’ve kept trying to do so for all the time, ever!! This is so unfair!"

Bryan chuckles and has the decency of blushing a little bit, but then adds, in a voice very, very low because he’s not stupid, and he knows he shouldn’t push his luck.. too much.

"You could probably pull the same stunt… if you were taller" he winks.

Ian closes his eyes and groans, swearing at Bryan’s words. Because the fucker knows that he has a very vivid, very easily triggered imagination, and he’s obviously now pictuirng him. With Tala. In a context like the one Bryan had been through, just a moment before. Only, it’s not the Falborg master, the one charming their redhead captain, but Ian himself. And, for all that Tala is unbelievably hot and handsome and physical perfection, Ian can’t say he likes having this kind of thoughts for him.

"Bryan" he gags: "I fucking hate you!"

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: That’s it, folks! Or, at least, I guess that’s it. I’m changing the statu of the story to complete, but I might add something in the future. Or maybe I’ll do oneshots, who knows. Thank you for tagging along for the journey, and alla prossima!


End file.
